The End Is Just A New Beginning
by Tytachh
Summary: /ON GOING/ When Tony called Peter to give him a hand in fending off a space-ship that terrorized Manhattan, Peter didn't think much of it. He'd been Spider-man for seven years: he was prepared for anything. At least he thought he was. He should have been. …Right? An AU where the Infinity War events happen years later and unfold quite differently.
1. The Beginning Of The End

**Chapter 1:** **The beginning of the end**

**May 2022**

Do you know what is the worst about days that go terribly wrong?

Most people would answer, "Well, duuuhhh, it's that they go terribly wrong." And even if they are not mistaken per say, the obvious answer is not necessarily the correct one. You see, there is something more insidious about those days. Sometimes you are 'lucky' enough to know from the start that you are going to have a shitty day. But most of the time, they take you by surprise. You get no time to mentally prepare to stand tall while destiny is slapping you hard in the face; all you can do is try to hold on and not be swiped away as you watch everything you love crumble around you.

It was one of those days for Peter.

Nothing stood out of the usual in the beginning. He overslept a little (not unusual after a night patrol), but made it in time for his lecture nonetheless (not as usual but, hey, who was going to complain?), he managed to grab MJ for lunch (and almost had time to finish his second sandwich before having to suit up to stop a car chase) and he arrived only five minutes late to his afternoon lecture, breaking his record for his continuous extreme unpunctuality. He really did try to stay awake during that lecture, a very interesting subject at that, but as usual, he decided that resting his eyes a few minutes wouldn't hurt him in the end.

His phone buzzing in his pocket woke him up. A bit groggy, Peter almost turned off the call but stopped himself just in time when he noticed the name on the screen. Silently standing up, he exited the theatre to pick up the call in the hallway.

"Hey kiddo, you busy right now?" greeted a voice at the other end of the line before Peter even got the time to say a word.

"Good afternoon to you too, _Mr Stark_. Kind of? Why?"

"Is it more pressing than a giant donut-shaped spaceship hovering Greenwich? We could use a hand."

At the mention of a 'spaceship,' Peter was already running towards the stairs to access the roof of the building.

"I'll be there in five." Then it hit him. "Wait, you said 'we.' Who 'we'? They're back?"

Peter could hear the sound of Tony's repulsors loading and firing in the background. He knew the question was stupid, especially since they were considered criminals now, but somewhere inside himself he had never stopped hoping to see the Avengers reunited.

"Only Banner. But he can't green up right now, so he's not really helping. There's him, and two wizards."

"Banner is back?" That almost gave Peter a pause.

"We'll talk later. Hurry up or Hocus Pocus will finish all the aliens before you even get the chance to see one for yourself." With that, Tony hung up.

Reaching the roof, Peter traded his clothes for his suit. As he put on his mask, Karen's warm but slightly reprimanding voice welcomed him. Peter would never stop marveling at Tony's AI's capacity to subtly replicate complex human emotions.

"Good afternoon, Peter. Aren't you supposed to be attending Pr. Warren's lecture?"

"Not when there are aliens in town. What info can you give me on that?"

A feed of videos and tweets popped up on his interface. Some footage revealed the spaceship's silhouette through a thick cloud of dust and debris, while others showed the battle between Iron Man, the aliens and… wizards? So Tony was not kidding? Peter had been Spider-manning for seven years now and yet, the world kept finding new ways to surprise him.

"There seem to be a total of two alien individuals from no race known to humankind. The spaceship is stationary and appears to be non threatening at the moment. The individuals, however, can be considered enhanced for our standards."

"Great. Alien supers. Exactly what this city lacked."

Peter climbed on the edge of the roof. He could see the spaceship perfectly from his vantage point. It was enormous. Regardless of Karen's affirmation, an ominous feeling emanated from it, only accentuated by the low-key humming sound that eerily swept over the city, reverberating through Peter's bones in perfect harmony with his spider-sense.

"Do you want me to trace you an itinerary to the spaceship, Peter?"

Peter wryly chuckled.

"No thanks, Karen. I'm pretty sure I'll find my way on my own."

"As you wish."

Peter stepped over the edge and let himself fall for half a second before thwipping out a web.

Peter arrived just in time to block a hulk-sized alien from smashing Iron Man flat on the ground with a pickaxe-like weapon.

"Courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Spider-ma-aaaaaahh!"

The alien did not let him finish his sentence. He twisted to grab Spider-man and threw him at a fountain, as if he were nothing more than a discarded toy. Peter quickly recovered.

"Hey, that was rude! Nobody ever told you not to cut off people when they are talking?" he said in a mock-outraged voice while throwing fast blobs of web at the alien. Spider-man took off as the alien swung his weapon at him as an answer before turning his attention back to the blasts Iron Man was firing at him.

"You're not exactly the talkative type, are you?" Spider-man kept on pressing, swinging around the alien like an annoying fly and sending fast and stingy webs at him occasionally.

"You're not exactly giving him time to answer either," Iron Man cockily replied.

"True. But then again, would he if I did?"

"Probably not."

"What do they want anyway?"

"Uh… I think they're here to steal one of the wizards' necklace."

Spider-man paused and stared at Iron Man.

"Wait. Seriously?"

If not for his Spider-sense, Peter would not have been able to duck the blow the alien aimed at him.

"Focus, kid," scolded Iron Man. "Yes. And it's very important that they don't get it."

Spider-man landed behind the alien, shot two strands of web at his ankles and brusquely yanked, causing the alien to topple to the ground. He hastened to encase his foe in a webbing cocoon.

"What's so important about it?"

"Why don't you ask the wizard directly?"

Spider-man looked up quizzically at Iron-Man, then turned his gaze when he noticed he was staring at something behind him.

The thing flew by him extremely fast. So fast he almost did not have time to make out the man whizzing away, closely followed by a slender alien riding a wave of concrete. Spider-man looked back at Iron-Man, his lenses wide from puzzlement.

"That would be him," Tony informed him. "We can't let them get away with him!"

"On it!" Spider-man lifted off as the big alien freed himself from his restraints. This mildly annoyed him, but he was confident in Tony's ability to take care of the threat by himself.

Spider-man pursued the strange pair at a dazzling speed. The wizard seemed to be flying away in an uncontrolled manner.

"Hey wizard, are you ok?" shouted Spider-man.

The man was unresponsive. His sharp turns were erratic, as if something was controlling his flight for him. Was he unconscious? Peter had to do something before he hurt himself.

Before he even had the time to act, the alien raised his hand in a swift motion. Not a second later, a huge advertising board came flying at Spider-man, who barely managed to avoid it. As he did so, the alien picked up some speed, determined to catch his prey. Another hand gesture from him and all the streetlights on the wizard's path bent like claws to try and catch him. It was only a miracle that he managed to avoid all of them.

Peter was fascinated. It was not the first time he saw telekinesis in action, but that guy's abilities were ten times more impressive than Scarlet Witch's. Impressive and foreboding.

Peter's motormouth took over before he could think.

"Hey Slenderman! Do you think you could unbend those lights? It's obvious you don't pay taxes to maintain this city. Let me tell you, life here is very expensive and it's already difficult enough to-"

With an annoyed sigh, the alien sent a cab flying at him. Expecting a similar move, Spider-man dodged it effortlessly this time. But a whole cab though?

"You and your friend are very rude. Do you know that?"

In spite of his rambling, Peter didn't loosen up his attention. This enemy was too powerful to take lightly. If he were to face him alone he might have a small chance, but he would have a hard time at it and would cause way too much collateral damage anyway. The safest course of action was to retrieve the wizard and lose the alien. He had no idea how to though, but then again, having a plan had never really worked so far.

He got an opening only a few moments later. One of the streetlights caught the wizard's cape, sending the man tumbling towards the ground. Spider-man snatched him with a web and immediately changed directions.

"Gotcha!"

First part of the job: done. But that was the easiest part. Shaking off an alien who could move literally anything with his mind proved to be way more difficult, especially with the dead weight Spider-man had to drag with him. He did hold his own quite well for a short time, but soon enough he felt that the wizard was being dragged in the opposite direction.

"Hey, that's cheating!"

Being pulled away as well, Spider-man clung to a streetlight and looked toward the wizard to judge how bad a situation they were in. That's when he noticed that, contrary to what he believed at first, the alien was not responsible for the force moving them.

It was. A freaking. Light beam. Emanating from the spaceship.

"No way… Just how cliché can you be?" muttered Peter.

The street lamp he was holding on to gave way. Spider-man shot a web to try to anchor them to something, anything, to no avail. The force of attraction was too strong and prevented the webbing to reach far enough. The situation was, indeed, pretty bad.

"Er… Tony? I think we're being abducted," Peter said in his communicator.

"I'm coming in a few, hold on."

Peter looked at the ground. They were gaining altitude way too fast. He had gotten rid of his fear of heights a long time ago, but damn… that was high.

"Believe me, I'm even clinging! …Sticking? Am I allowed to say that?"

"We went over this already. That joke has been sticking around way too long."

"No way, did you just make one of those? I'm honestly shook."

"You know what? Just for the use of that word I'm disinheriting you."

"Oh no, Mr. Stark, you can't do that! I had already cleared a spot on my desk for that terrible coffee machine in your lab… I was soooo looking forward to get splatters all over my papers."

"You, out of all people, are not touching that machine."

Peter never once lost eye contact with the wizard. As he got boarded into the ship, the doors closed, cutting off Spider-man's web and the light beam at the same time, allowing gravity to take over once more. With a surprised "Whooop!" Peter reflexively slung a new web. He climbed on the side of the spaceship, heart in his throat. It had been close, but there was no time to rest. Oxygen was getting rarer as they got higher. Peter was already starting to breathe heavily.

He tried for the door that took the wizard in, but found no way to open it. It was sealed shut, and no amount of strength he could muster was enough to even move it the slightest. Just as no control panel could be seen anywhere close. Resigned, Peter set out in search of another way in.

"Karen, I need to find an entry point."

"There is another gate 203 feet above your current position", she informed him after a quick analysis. Peter promptly followed her indications.

Soon enough, his head started spinning. Not enough to slow him down at first, but as he kept on progressing, vertigo hit him so hard he had to take a break. Every breath had become a struggle. It didn't matter that he would fill his lungs completely each time he inhaled. It wasn't enough anymore. He peeled off his mask in a desperate attempt to get more air in. But outside of the sudden coldness that stung his skin, he noticed no change. The pressure in his head was becoming overwhelming.

"Tony… I can't… breathe…" he panted in his com. "Too… high."

"Just let go, I'm gonna catch you."

He didn't need to be told twice. Bordering on the edge of consciousness, Peter entered free fall, barely aware of it. He fell for what felt like an eternity, until he was struck hard in the back. He thought at first he hit the spaceship in his descend, but when he felt something crawl over his suit from the impact point, he knew he didn't end up a flat fly on a windshield on the side of the spaceship. As the thing came over his face, Karen's interface popped back on his field of view. A pressurization sound took over his hearing. Oxygen flowed once more.

Senses sharp again, Peter managed to back flip just in time to gracefully land on the spaceship. Looking at his hands, he noticed a nice metallic glow on his suit.

"Smells like a new car in here."

"You're welcome, kid," said Tony, flying right past him.

Peter almost pointed out a discussion they had had a few years back about the fact the he wanted to be the sole creator of his suits. But Tony's just saved his life, and deep down, he always knew the man couldn't resist building him new toys, so he let go of the subject. At least for the moment.

Tony went straight for the body of the ship.

"Karen detected an entry point-". Peter interrupted himself when he realized Tony was cutting right through the shell. "Or we can go by the shorter route too."

"There's no 'we', kid. I don't want you in."

Peter was dumbstruck by Tony's sudden coldness.

"What? What is that, all of a sudden?"

"It's a one way ticket. There's no going back." Tony pushed the metal piece inward, the edges still glowing red from the heat. He turned to Peter. "I'm not stealing your life."

Peter took a step forward.

"Tony, if the situation is that bad, you're gonna need all the help you can get."

"You don't get it. The whole universe is at stake here. This might as well be a fight to the death, and I'm not adding another innocent death on my conscious."

"Are you serious? You don't get to take that decision for me!"

"Yes I do! I'm responsible for you! If anything happens to you, that's on me, and I won't have it. Not this time, not ever."

"Listen to me. I'm old enough to take my own decisions. I chose to come of my own free will, knowing full well what the consequences might be. If anything happens to you up there, and I'm not here to help you, I will never be able to forgive myself. And if anything happens down there because I was not helping you up there, I will not only never forgive myself, but you as well. And I don't want to hold a grudge against you. I'm coming."

"Peter…"

"I'm. Coming."

His entire body language was screaming determination.

"There's no changing your mind, am I right?"

"Not a chance."

They both glared at each other. Peter rarely stood up to Tony like this, but they both knew that when he was guided by his moral compass, there was no stopping him. He had proven it only six month into the job, years back, when he took on the Vulture on his own. He would have found a way to follow Tony in no matter what - a way that might have put him uselessly at risk. Tony stepped inside, reluctantly giving up.

"Alright, come on. We still have to save the day," he sighed.

Peter followed him in, relieved. He didn't fully understand why this specific mission was so important to Tony, but he could definitely see that the man was taking the matter very personally. And when he did, he needed to have people around who cared about him, to protect him from himself and his self-destructive tendencies. He preferred not to leave him alone more than necessary.

Peter picked up the cut out part of wall from the ground and put it back in place, holding it for Tony to fuse it with nano tech. The silence stretched long enough between them to become awkward.

"You know, if you had been a few years younger, I would just have deployed the parachute in your suit and it would have saved me the pain of this discussion."

"You put a parachute in my suit? Again?" Peter twisted to get a look at his back.

Tony managed to give a phone call to Pepper before the spaceship went out of range from the satellites. Even though Peter couldn't hear what she said, he could guess she was heartbroken. She had managed to make Tony swear to stop suiting up a few years back as she couldn't stand the worry any longer. He had more or less been able to hold his promise; until he stepped into a spaceship going who knows where, on a mission he seemed almost certain he would not come back alive from. Of course he didn't tell her that specific part. But judging by his answers, Peter suspected that Pepper knew. The both of them had grown such a bond that they seemed to be able to read each other like an open book. It was almost scary at times.

Tony lifted his faceplate once he lost contact. Bending slightly forward, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. It looked as if the weight of the whole world was resting on his shoulders. He took a moment to put his emotions in check.

When he straightened back up, he was almost back to his normal self. Almost. It was subtle, but something was off in his fire, although Peter couldn't put a finger on what it was exactly.

Turning to Peter, Tony raised an eyebrow at him.

"You didn't call anyone?"

"My phone plan doesn't exactly cover interplanetary calls."

Tony saw right through his humor.

"You sure you won't regret this?"

Even though quite some time had passed, Peter's memories of his uncle Ben's passing were still fresh in his mind. He remembered only too well May's soul crushing despair when she realized her husband would not come back home. The expression she arbored on her face at that moment was forever carved in Peter's mind. He would not inflict that pain on her once more, especially since he was determined to find a way to come back once they finish whatever it was they were on their way to accomplish.

Peter rubbed at the back of his head, looking away from Tony.

"I don't know. I just felt like it was too early to say goodbye. I know how you feel about the whole mess we're in but, in our line of work, we've survived weirder than a trip to space, right? I mean, I don't want to uselessly worry May, you know how she-"

Tony rolled his eyes and walked away, dismissing Peter's rambling with a hand gesture.

"You just had to answer yes or no. I didn't need to hear your life story."

Of course. Classic Tony. Peter smiled despite himself and followed his mentor's lead.

Soon enough, they emerged on a platform overlooking what seemed to be the command room. Bitten down cries could be heard from down below. The wizard was held immobile in mid-air, dozens of crystal picks hovering around him and threatening to pierce his skin any moment. They could not hear what the slender alien was telling him, but judging by his confident demeanor and the obvious torture setting, it couldn't be niceties.

"Alright kiddo. Since you insisted on being here, make yourself useful. What's the plan?" whispered Tony.

Peter took a few seconds to think. A smile stretched on his face. Although he was wearing his mask, he knew Tony would decipher the look he gave him.

"Tell me, _Mr Stark_. Have you seen that very _old_ movie called Alien?" he asked in a mischievous tone.

The plan, surprisingly, worked for once. It was a close call — Peter and the wizard almost got blasted into space — but it worked. It took few surprise elements on their side - including the wizard's cape, which flew about as if it had a mind of its own, and the spider-like limbs that unexpectedly erupted from Peter's suit at the most welcomed moment. They gave him extra grip and strength, allowing him to extract the both of them from the hole Tony had pierced in the shell of the ship; a hole that was originally intended to suck the alien alone into the void.

Peter and the wizard were violently sent flying backwards, and while Tony closed off the hole with nanites, artificial gravity became the main force of attraction once more. Peter managed to gracefully touch down on a crouch, but the wizard landed heavily on his side.

"Are you alright?" asked Peter.

"Surprisingly better than I would have thought," grumbled the wizard.

Slowly getting up, his cape came to settle down of its own accord on his shoulders. The wizard didn't even seem to spare it a second thought.

"We gotta turn this ship around," he directed to Tony.

"Yeah, now he wants to run," he retorted.

"No, I want to protect the stone."

"And I want you to thank me. Now go ahead, I'm listening."

"For what? Nearly blasting me into space?"

"Who just saved your magical ass? Me."

"I seriously don't know how you fit your head into that helmet."

"Admit it. You should have ducked out when I told you to. I tried to bench you. You refused."

"Unlike everyone else in your life, I don't work for you."

"And due to that fact, we're now on a flying doughnut, billions of miles from Earth, with no backup."

Peter, couldn't stand the tension any longer.

"Alright, can you guys settle down? And maybe fill me in on the situation? I'm Spider-man, by the way," he said extending his hand to the wizard.

The wizard shook it.

"Doctor Strange."

Peter gave a curt nod. Some people had a knack for finding the most fitting made-up names, and that Doctor definitely had one of the bests out there.

"What do you know exactly?" he asked Peter.

"Close to nothing. I know your necklace is important. And that we're in space. That's about it."

Strange turned to Tony, stunned.

"You take a kid on board a spaceship without explaining anything to him?"

"I figured you were better at bedtime stories."

"I'm surprised this ship still hasn't crashed from the weight of your irresponsibility. What were you thinking?"

Peter didn't let Tony quip back. He was fed up watching the two of them waste their energy on some trivial banter. And he didn't like to see his mentor attacked for no reason.

"It was my choice, not Tony's. Now can you please just tell me what's going on?"

Tony pointedly looked at Strange. Resigned, the wizard didn't quite hold back a sigh when he materialized an illusion out of thin air that morphed alongside his explanation.

"At first, there was nothing. Then, out of the Big Bang emerged the six Infinity Stones, each controlling an essential aspect of existence. Space, Reality, Power, Soul, Mind, and Time."

On cue with his last word, Doctor Strange opened his necklace, revealing the shining green gemstone contained in it. Peter could feel the raw power emanating from the artifact pulsating through his bones. His spider-sense was lowly humming, not from immediate danger, but from everything that could be. He had never quite felt anything like this before. It took a conscious effort on his part not to step back from the stone.

"It is said that they who gather all six stones will be granted the power of a god."

Doctor Strange closed his necklace to Peter's quiet relief.

"See? Better storyteller," Tony couldn't help but comment.

Strange ignored him.

"A powerful being, by the name of Thanos, is after them. According to Bruce Banner, he already has two in his possession, which is more power than anyone has ever wielded in the history of this universe."

"He's the one behind the attack on New-York," Tony said in a voice that he tried to make as flat as possible.

That's when Peter finally saw it. What was amiss with Tony's usual fire. He was on a quest for revenge, lead by despair. His determination was so strong that it slipped into every movement he made, every word he said, every choice he took. And at the same time, these emotions were so foreign from him that Peter had needed to be pointed at them to recognize them. He knew that Tony had had a hard time after the attack on New-York, that he had to deal with PTSD. They talked about it once, when Tony was briefing Peter on the aftermath of heroing, and how to deal with it. But it was not before this very moment that he realized how deeply the event was engraved in him. Tony was out for blood, to try and right a wrong that was done to the world, to him, ten years before. And he was ready to give his life for it if he had to.

Peter stared wide-eyed at Tony. He had turned his back to them, seemingly inspecting the ship's commands.

"What does he want to do with those Infinity Stones?"

Strange was the one who answered.

"Wipe out half the universe."

The idea was so far fetched that Peter's brain froze.

"…Is that even possible?"

"It would require immense will power and strength to do so, but yes. It is, indeed, possible. Everything is, with the Stones. Their power is ancient and immeasurable. Some even speculate that they are the very tools that forged our universe."

"But… why?" Peter couldn't grasp the motivations behind such a horrific goal.

"We don't know what Thanos' reasoning is, but we do know that he's relentless."

"Banner was with Thor, on an Asgardian ship," Tony filled Peter in, knowing the question was coming. He was gripping the edge of the ship console, his back still facing them. "He witnessed Thanos murder half of the Asgardian population, to get the power Stone contained in the Tesseract."

The artifact was actually a Stone? Peter had heard about it in history class in high school, and his curiosity had lead him to make further research about it. The thing was extremely powerful. And he was almost sure they'd seen only a fraction of its power. If someone could manipulate its raw strength at will…

Only then did Peter register the whole of what Tony said.

"Asgard?" Peter asked, panic slowly finding him. "Is Thor alive?"

Tony didn't answer right away.

"We don't know."

Even though Peter had never met the god, he couldn't help but feel a pang of loss at the idea of the disappearance of someone who had helped to protect their world so many times. Of someone Tony had grown to consider a friend. If even a population of gods couldn't defend itself against Thanos…

Peter was starting to grasp the stakes of the mission they were on. He understood why Tony didn't want him on board, but the knowledge acquired didn't lessen his motivations in the slightest. On the contrary; it reinforced them. He couldn't allow the same fate that had happened to the Asgardians to befall humanity. Or any other species, if he could help it.

"This ship is self-correcting its course. Thing's on autopilot," said Tony, changing the subject.

"Can we control it? Fly us home?" inquired Strange.

Tony did not reply.

"…Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you get us home?"

"Yeah, I heard you the first time. I'm thinking I'm not so sure we should."

"Under no circumstances can we bring the time stone to Thanos. I don't think you quite understand what's at stake here," scolded the wizard.

Tony turned around so fast Peter felt dizzy just by looking at him. Stark strode to Doctor Strange, planting a finger on his torso.

"What? No. It's you who doesn't understand that Thanos has been inside my head for ten years. Since he sent an army to New-York. And now he's back. And I don't know what to do. So I'm not so sure if it's a better plan to fight him on our turf or his but you saw what they did, heard what they can do. At least on his turf he's not expecting it. So I say we take the fight to him, Doctor. Do you concur?"

Strange looked Tony right in the eye.

"Alright Stark. We go to him. But you have to understand. If it comes to saving you, or the kid, or the time stone, I will not hesitate to let either of you die. I can't, because the universe depends on it."

"Nice. Good moral compass. We're straight."

Even though he knew how pointless it was, Peter was trying to make sense of the command console out of pure curiosity. They'd been stuck in the spaceship for hours, and he'd gone through every other way to occupy his time by this point. He tried to keep company to Tony at first, but the man was too restless to be any good at socializing. Peter then turned to Strange, only to quickly realize that the wizard was no better, if not worse; it felt like he was trying - and not entirely succeeding - to contain contempt every time he answered one of Peter's questions. When Tony couldn't stand to be confined in a single room anymore, he went for a quick go around the ship, with Peter on his heels, eager to explore. But they didn't discover anything worth noting, nor any information that could have helped them prepare better for the fight ahead of them, and they quickly ended up back in the command room. Peter settled down for a while with a game on his phone, with an eye always (discreetly) out for Tony, until his battery ran critically low. So, the console it was. And let's be honest; it's not everyday one gets the chance to look at alien technology up close, right?

There were very few written indications next to the buttons, not that Peter could decipher them anyway. But even more intriguing was the screen on which circles of varying diameters kept popping up and disappearing. How could anyone make any sense out of that? Peter lightly brushed a finger against the screen, fascinated. As he did so, a strident alarm blared through the room. Peter's hand jerked up in the air as he jumped away from the console.

"I don't think that one's on me, but if it is, I'm sorry."

As he stepped back, he noticed the screen had changed from the endless passing by of stars to numerous sea-star shaped formations that kept getting bigger.

"Did I do that?" asked Peter, skeptical.

Tony came closer to the screen.

"I think we're here."

"Then what is the alarm about?"

Peter understood as Tony said it.

"I don't think this rig has a self-park function."

"Should we…" Peter pointed at the stirring gimbal handles, his voice a weird mix of apprehension and excitation. Out of all the crazy things this Spider-man gig could ever lead him to do, piloting an alien space-ship was on his top ten list of mad but incredibly cool things that _could_ potentially happen one day.

Tony reactivated his armor, put his hand around the handle and closed the pieces around it, inviting his protégé to mimic him. Peter hurried to do as told. He couldn't have been happier.

"We have to try and stay coordinated. These were made for one big guy."

"Got it."

Judging by the screen, one of the sea-star shaped structures was getting very close.

"We might wanna turn," intervened Strange.

It turned out the ship wasn't easy to stir. It required more strength than first anticipated, and trying to figure out the right amount of coordination proved to be unhelpfully unintuitive.

"Yup, we're trying," replied Tony with gritted teeth.

The results were hardly visible on the screen.

"Turn, turn, turn!" shouted Peter, his Spider-sense tingling strongly at the back of his neck.

Casting a look at Tony to ensure they were on the same page, he jerked the handle on the side. The ship finally changed course, but not enough the get them out of the way of the upcoming construction. Not trusting them to right the situation anymore, Doctor Strange walked in between Tony and Peter and materialized a light sphere full of intricate symbols all around them.

Metal being torn apart resonated through the ship as it collided with the building. The deafening sound it had made promised nothing good regarding the integrity of their vessel. Peter hanged to the handle tightly, adding stickiness to his already powerful grip, preparing for the inevitable crash.

To say they were jostled around was an understatement. The amount of sensory input was overwhelming, between the light shutting off and the flashes of power cables snapping, the metal structures shrieking, the low rumble of the ship's belly hitting and dragging on the ground, and the huge tremors it caused. If not for Doctor's Strange protective spell, they likely would have been tossed all around the room instead of a limited area, and would have ended up with far worse than the few bruises they actually got.

The silence that followed the crash was almost as ear splitting as the crash itself, only interrupted by random sparks erupting from torn wires. The light blinked back on as an emergency power source took over. Peter was surprised to find himself lying on the floor, the handle still in hand, reaped from the main body. He discarded it as he got up, dusting his suit while taking in his surroundings. Well, they'd have to find another means of transportation to head back home…

Peter shook his head, confused. If they had finally landed, why was his spider-sense still going haywire?

"You alright?" Asked Strange as he helped Tony to stand up.

"That was close. I owe you one."

Strange nodded.

Peter got the answer to his unvoiced question when his enhanced hearing caught wind of footsteps getting closer.

"Let me just say, if aliens wind up implanting eggs in my chest or something, and I eat one of you, I'm sorry."

Tony's head whipped towards him.

"Now is not the time for pop culture references."

A small bomb came rolling at their feet. But Peter felt it coming; he snatched it with a web and sent it to explode further away before it got the chance to scatter them.

"I was just trynna say we're not alone."

As if on cue, three… beings? walked in through a breach in the wall.

"THANOOOOOS!" shouted one of them, losing no time in throwing three daggers at Strange.

The wizard managed to block two of them in time with some kind of magical shield, the third one missing its target entirely. He sent his cape at the alien's head, placating him to ground.

Meanwhile, a second alien propelled himself in the air and engaged Tony, which left the third one, visibly a female, to Peter. She came cautiously to him, her hands extended in front of her as if she were trying to convey a calm demeanor. Peter had an ominous feeling about her. He stepped back as she advanced on him.

"I'm not trying to sound cliché, but please, don't put your eggs in me."

The alien stopped, looking confused.

"I'm not… I don't think I-"

Peter took advantage of her puzzlement to encase her in webbing. However, he didn't react in time to avoid the surprise side kick (two words) that sent him tumbling meters away. The mechanical limbs in his suit emerged as an extension of his body, reacting in accord with his own movements to help him land smoothly. Damn, Tony really outdid himself on this one.

Tony's opponent had somehow managed to incapacitate him and was now on Peter, the red glow of his helmet's eyes a burning menace. The alien shot plasma blasts at him using a pistol, that Peter easily avoided thanks to his spider-sense and years of practice. But the alien was good too; without ever breaking pace between his shots, he subtly switched from his pistol to a net that Peter saw coming only too late. He didn't manage to avoid it in time, its surface being wider than the plasma blasts. As its strands closed in on him, electricity shot through him. All his muscles tensed, sending him crashing to the ground. The pain was so intense his vision turned white. Involuntary squeaks escaped him. This — was not — pleasant.

The mesh lost its juice as things seemed to settle down. Trying to muster his mind back and still trapped, Peter couldn't do anything but let the alien pick him up and hold him against his chest, putting the canon at his temple. He could see Tony keeping the third alien at bay with his hand canon, while Strange stood at the ready to strike anything should it be required.

"Everybody stay where you are, chill the eff out," bawled the alien in his ear. Ouch.

The alien changed his target from Peter to Tony. Major mistake. Having gathered his strength back, Peter surprised the alien by suddenly shooting out of the net. With practiced ease, he pushed the pistol away from his aim before disarming it entirely. Now in possession of the weapon, Peter webbed it to the floor, making it impossible for anyone to grab and use it. He lost no time in wrapping the alien in webs too. All three of them were now subdued. He was surprised to see how human the alien looked without the helmet he had removed sometime during Peter's daze.

Peter crossed his arms.

"Wrong move, my dude. You don't get to menace that guy over there and think you can go unpunished."

"Hey that's my line, Webhead," Tony said indignant.

"Too bad I was faster."

The alien glared at them, his hatred palpable.

"Where is Gamora?"

Tony deactivated his helmet.

"Yeah, I'll do you one better: who's Gamora?"

The big alien he kept on the ground replied something that had them all flabbergasted, including his own teammates.

"I'll do you one better: why is Gamora?"

Peter could practically hear Tony's thoughts : _Yeah, you definitely are the smart one_.

The human looking one was relentless.

"You better tell me where the girl is or I swear to you I'll beat you up so bad that not even Thanos will be able to recognize your ugly faces," he threatened, still held by the shackles of webs. "Starting with you, freak." He looked pointedly at Peter.

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Why is everyone so rude today?"

"He's not wrong, you know."

Peter turned to the big alien.

"With the way you move, your eight legs and those big bright eyes, you're kinda freakish."

Peter waved his hand in front of his face.

"You do realize this is a mask, right?" he said flatly.

"Spider-man, look out!" warned Strange.

Too late. Peter turned just in time to see the female alien, who had managed to free her hands from her restraints, grab his forearm, her antennas glowing a bright white.

"Peace," she murmured in a compelling manner, dragging the word.

Calm swept over Peter like a tidal wave. His mind relaxed in a way it had not in a long time, spreading to his body, erasing every traces of alertness. He hadn't known he was that tensed until all the strain left his body. He barely realized his legs gave out under him, or that the alien held him in his fall to make it as gentle as possible. He just felt…. good.

Everything that happened around him was perceived through a fog. He could hear and see alright, but it was as if his mind couldn't process the events unfolding around him enough to enable emotional reactions of any kind.

"What did you do to him?!" bellowed Tony. "Step away from him! He better be alright or I swear to you I'll blast him and you next!" He changed his regular gauntlet to an impressive plasma canon that could be nothing but lethal, almost shoving it in his prisoner's face. He absolutely meant his threat.

"It's all right I can take it! Just do your thing," declared the big alien.

"No you can't!" replied the female, a strong note of panic in her voice. She stepped away from Peter, lifting her hands as much as she could in an attempt to show her good will. "He's fine, see? He's fine. He's only relaxed. It's ok, we're not working for Thanos."

"What?" deadpanned both Tony and the human looking alien.

The female looked at the last one.

"They think we're with Thanos." She turned to Strange and Tony. "We're not."

"So you're not working for— wait, who are you, then?" asked the alien.

Peter rolled onto his back. He cast a quick glance at Tony, knowing that what he was about to say was only true to an extant.

"We'ee zee A'enges, man," he slurred.

Peter frowned and sucked his tongue.

"You're the ones Thor told us about," realized the female.

At the mention of Thor, and seeing that Peter was, indeed, fine, Tony folded back his hand canon.

"You know Thor?"

"Yeah. Tall guy, not that good-looking, needed saving," enumerated the human looking one like a shopping list.

Tony looked at Strange.

"So he's alive."

"Where is he now?" Asked Strange.

"Nidavellir."

" 'less you," answered Peter.

"Is he, now?" bemused Strange. "It's a mythical place amongst the nine realms, where weapons only gods can wield are forged," he added to answer Tony's questioning look.

"He went there to get a weapon that could kill Thanos," informed the female.

Tony nodded.

"Good. That's actually a very good thing."

The room was silent for a few seconds.

"Who did you say you were again?"

They were called the Guardians of the Galaxy, even if they didn't really look the part, according to Peter. The fact that his pride was still sore for having been so easily subdued had obviously nothing to do with that judgment. It turned out their leader, who called himself Star Lord, was also from Earth, although he didn't seem to have any knowledge about anything that went on on the planet since the eighties. The female, Mantis, could read and control emotions with nothing but a touch of her hand. She didn't look very sharp, but they were warned that she was way more powerful than she appeared. Peter was ready to believe their very words on this matter. The last one, Drax, had a profound hatred for Thanos, as well as a complete lack of sarcasm understanding.

They asserted they had three other members, two of them having gone with Thor to accompany him in his quest. The last one, said Gamora and Star-Lord's girlfriend, had been kidnapped by Thanos in a place called Knowhere, after he acquired a third Stone, the Reality one. This bode no good news for the fight to come. Although they only mentioned it quickly in passing, Drax and Mantis had been subject to the Reality Stone's effect first hand, which seemed to have affected them more than they let on. However, they kept a strong façade, and didn't seem to be dreading facing Thanos any more than any other one of them. They had bravery on their side (or was it just stubbornness?), Peter could at least give them that.

They ventured out of the wreckage, finding that the atmosphere, if a bit dusty, was breathable. The landscape, however, was of the apocalyptic sort. The sea-star shaped constructions turned out to be buildings falling in ruins, metal beams coated in dirt and rust. The wind sometimes picked up the sand covering the ground to let appear the ghost of pavements that must have been majestic once. An eerie silence reigned all around them, only broken by the occasional creaks and groaning of the local architecture, losing its battle against decay. There was nothing alive around them. The whole place emitted the weird feeling ruins typically do: the one of past grandeur, of lives gone by, of a story that met its inevitable end. It made Peter really uncomfortable.

Star-Lord walked around, observing a small shining tube he held in his hand.

"The hell happened to this planet? It's eight degrees off its axis. Gravitational pull is all over the place."

Tony clasped his hands, trying to gather everyone's attention.

"All right, we got one advantage: he's coming to us. We'll use it. I have a plan. Or at least the beginnings of one. It's pretty simple. We draw him in, pin him down, get what we need. Definitely don't wanna dance with this guy. We just want the gauntlet."

Star-Lord nodded, looking like he fully agreed.

"All right, we're optimistic, yes. I like your plan. Except it sucks, so let me do the plan and that way it might be really good."

"You serious?" Tony was incredulous.

Drax laughed, a palpable pride for his leader echoing at its edges.

"Yeah. Tell him about the dance-off to save the universe."

"What dance-off?"

As they argued on who would be better to establish a plan, Mantis turned around, a strange noise capturing her attention.

"Huh… Excuse-me? But does your friend often do that?" she asked, pointing a finger at Doctor Strange.

The man was seated cross-legged, hovering above the ground, in a meditation pose. Everything about him was completely static but his head, that moved around as if someone had pushed the 'fast-forward' button on a remote control. The sight was unusual to say the least, and pretty worrying.

Tony strode toward him, Peter on his heels.

"Strange, we all right?"

The wizard abruptly opened his eyes, drawing in a deep, panicked breath. He landed to the ground, and would have ended face first into the dirt if not for Tony holding him back. He let out a bewildered cry, followed by intense panting.

"You're back. You're all right," tried to reassure Tony.

"Hi," replied Strange, faintly.

"Hey, what was that?" inquired Peter.

Strange swallowed with difficulty.

"I went forward in time to view alternate futures. To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict."

"How many did you see?" asked Quill, astounded.

"Fourteen billion, six-hundred and five."

Damn, that was a lot.

"How many did we win?" questioned Tony, reserved.

Strange shook his head, refusing to look at any of them.

"None."

The stillness that fell over them was heavy with dread, full of a reality that was yet to be processed.

Tony was the first to break the silence.

"What do you mean 'none'? Like zero? Nada? Nieces? You can't possibly have seen everything. You must have missed something."

Strange looked him dead in the eyes.

"I mean that no matter how we approach this fight, there is no way we win it. We lose no matter what."

"You can't be serious."

"However," Strange purposefully turned all his attention to Peter, "Amongst those futures, one seemed to go further than what I was allowed to see. This unseen future could be the key."

Although Doctor Strange did deny it afterwards, it seemed like he knew more than he let on; but nothing said could convince him to talk. Tony plain decided to ignore anything Strange said about the matter, and set out to prepare for the fight, declaring that it was stupid to believe a rock could predict the future. However, Peter believed he was just too invested into the matter to accept the possibility of inevitable defeat. He would not have it. Peter himself struggled to really grasp the idea. He had lost in the past, sure, but never on such a big scale, with so much at stake. It wasn't just a few lives that were in danger here, or even a city, but the whole universe. They couldn't lose. Otherwise, what kind of heroes would that make of them?

The worst part in this whole ordeal was the wait. They knew Thanos was coming. But they had no idea when, and no way to know. It was stressful to say the least. Learning on the spot that the Rhino or Doc Oc were attacking somewhere and having no time to lose in arresting them was a world apart from waiting for an enemy's arrival you knew were too powerful for you. Especially with the insidious knowledge that you couldn't win this fight anyway gnawing at your mind. Peter was longing so much for a nice cup of coffee with MJ in their favorite café at this moment, far from this mess, that he almost regretted his life choices.

"Just ignore him, okay?" pep talked Tony. "We're gonna do our best. We will kick Thanos' ass so bad he will regret ever looking at New-York. We're a team. We'll unlock this 'unseen future' where we win. Do you trust me?"

Of course he did. But that didn't lessen the apprehension in any way.

It was hours before Thanos materialized out of thin smoke. He walked in, big purplish and proud. He was gigantic. As soon as he entered the scene, Peter's spider-sense screamed at him to turn back, run, and never come near this man's vicinity ever again. It was almost dazzling.

Everyone had taken upon themselves to go into hiding but for Doctor Strange. If Thanos was surprised to find him sitting alone on the remnants of steps, he didn't show it.

"Oh yeah. You're much more of a Thanos".

"I take it the Maw is dead."

So that was what slender-man was called !

Strange nodded.

"This day extracts a heavy toll."

The most perturbing thing about Thanos was probably his calm demeanor. From someone with such horrific goals and virtually zero limitations to achieve them, one would expect him to be crazy. Mad, even. But instead, he seemed calm, level-headed. Eloquent. It would have been easier to fight someone who didn't look like he had thought this through. Not someone who appeared to have the wits to know what he was doing. It made the whole thing a lot more frightening.

"Still, he accomplished his mission," Thanos said, looking at Strange's necklace, knowing perfectly what was inside.

"You may regret that. He brought you face to face with the master of Mystic Arts."

"And where do you think he brought you?"

"Let me guess. Your home?"

Thanos' smile was crisped.

"It was. And it was beautiful."

Thanos raised a hand cast in a golden gauntlet. Closing his fist, a single red stone shone brightly. The reality stone. In just one hand movement, Thanos gave life to the entire landscape showcasing it in what must have been its prime. The buildings were almost glowing of prestige. People were pacing the side-walks along well maintained bushes. Peter could hear birds singing, perceive the sweet smell of the flowerbed just below his position. He could take in people having individual conversations. Hear their heartbeats. This was more than just an illusion. It was almost too real.

And it was just one stone.

From his vantage point, Peter could count five out of the six stones on the gauntlet. Five. Only then did Peter fully realize the weight of their mission. They had to keep Thanos from getting the time stone. They were the last barrier between Thanos and the obliteration of half the universe. They outnumbered Thanos and yet, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that they still weren't enough. The long hours of waiting now felt like they were too short. They needed more time to prepare. Time they would never have.

"Titan was like most planets," continued Thanos. "Too many mouths, not enough to go around." Thanos cut short the apparition. "And when we faced extinction, I offered a solution."

"Genocide," completed Strange.

"But random. Dispassionate. Fair to rich and poor alike. They called me a madman. And what I predicted came to pass."

"Congratulations, you're a prophet."

"I'm a survivor."

"Who wants to murder trillions."

"With all six stones, I could simply snap my fingers. They would all cease to exist. I call that mercy. "

"And then what?"

"I'd finally rest and watch the sun rise on a grateful universe. The hardest choices require the strongest wills."

"I think you'll find our will equal to yours."

"Our?"

Tony, on cue, propelled an enormous floating rock onto him, boosting his thrusters to maximum power. Thanos saw it early enough to react in time. Closing his fist, he used the power stone to shatter the projectile before it hit him.

Without wasting any time, Peter jumped out of his hiding position, joining the others in the fight. Their plan was simple: remove the gauntlet from Thanos. The execution, however, would not be that easy.

"Look out!" Spider-man shouted to his allies. "He's got five Stones!"

Peter landed a blow behind the titan's head and ducked away immediately. He would have had better luck hitting a rock; at least, it might have cracked. This was not gonna be easy.

"Five?" Tony repeated, alarmed.

He circled Thanos, trying to angle himself at best to fact-check Peter.

"The bastard."

Tony shot a good handful of missiles at Thanos, who absorbed the heat and redirected it back to the sender, forcing him to dodge.

Everyone tried their best to incapacitate Thanos one way or another. Those who had the abilities to stop him from closing his hand to use the Stones' power focused on that part of the plan, while the others distracted him in the meantime. Tony especially seemed relentless, almost putting too much power in his blasts. Peter was concerned about his energy reserves.

The fight was an abrupt mess. And almost too easy on Thanos' part. Every time someone managed to force his hand open, he would fend them off. And every time someone would deal him a blow, he found more and more creative ways to stop them, even managing to knock Drax unconscious at some point.

Thanos could do virtually anything. Teleport himself away just before a blow landed. Change the scale of the fight from long distance to close range by modifying the ground itself. Spawn random creatures to come to his help. Transform the ground they were standing on into quicksand.

For the first time in his life, Peter didn't hold back his strength. He put all his energy into every move. And still it wasn't enough. All of them combined, and nothing they had done so far had dealt Thanos a single scratch.

Peter shot a web, snatching his fingers. He jerked on the strand, preventing Thanos from closing his hand. The titan pulled on it, annoyed. Peter tried to resist, but he was dragged forward, his feet unable to stick to the ground because of the layer of dust. His mechanical limbs shot out, helping in pinning him in place.

Thanos' patience was drawing thin. With his other hand, he grabbed the web and ripped it off his fingers.

"Enough!"

He closed his fist. A single yellow stone shone.

Peter collapsed.

Something big and powerful rushed into his mind, ransacking it. It was digging into every corner, reading every thought, witnessing every memory. His psyche was an open book, and he couldn't do anything to close it. Peter was paralyzed in his own head, forced to watch as the thing took in everything. And the thing was not gentle in his undoing; painful in an indescribable way.

Peter wasn't aware of what was going on around him. He barely realized how his hands had shot up to his head, in an unconscious and futile attempt to shield his mind. He might have been screaming.

And just as abruptly as it started, it stopped. The presence didn't leave completely though. It was still there, watching his every thought from a distance, like a hawk waiting for the right moment to dive on its prey.

Peter slowly got on all fours, not trusting himself to be able to stand just yet. As he looked around him, he noticed that everyone else had been subject to the same abuse. They all looked miserable. Pathetic.

While Thanos was standing tall, not even close to be winded. His fist was still closed. The stone still shining.

"Interesting," he said. "What a nice little plan you have here. Completely pointless, but at least you tried. I respect that."

He turned toward Mantis' hiding spot. So far, she was the only one who had kept her distance with the fight. She was no combatant; and a precious asset in their plan. They kept her away, as a secret weapon.

Not so secret anymore, apparently.

"Mantis, come here. I want to see you."

Mantis came around the pillar she was hiding behind, sustaining her own weight against it. She was shaking.

"What an interesting character you are," Thanos said, a sad lilt to his voice. "So much potential. Such innocence. Too bad it is time for you to sleep."

They all felt it, even though it was not directed at them. Mantis collapsed.

"Karen, is she…?" rasped Peter.

"I do not detect any heartbeat, Peter."

Peter clenched his fists, his knuckles most likely white under his gloves.

"That yellow stone. How did you get it?"

Tony's voice. Peter looked up, concern gnawing at his guts.

Thanos looked at his hand.

"This Stone is, indeed, what you think it is," he replied. Thanos looked up, locking eyes with Tony's slits in his faceplate. "I destroyed him."

"You killed Vision?"

Tony got up with difficulty.

"It was just a machine. A beautiful piece of machinery, but a machine all the same."

Tony formed a blade at the extremity of an arm. He was starting to draw in the nanoparticles that formed his suit, leaving patches of his body exposed. If he realized it, he didn't seem to care.

He let out a cry of pure rage and ran at Thanos, readying the weapon to hit. The titan didn't move an inch. He let Tony come to him.

At the last moment, he snatched Tony's arm, parrying his blow. Using his free hand, he broke off the blade. Without letting go of him, he plunged it right into Tony's exposed guts, to Peter's absolute horror.

"Out of all people, I thought you would be able to understand, Stark. You are like me: cursed with knowledge."

He pushed the blade a little deeper. Tony grunted, his face paler than ever. Thanos got even closer and murmured: "I see you care for the lad. If you want him to live through this day, you better not interfere again."

He turned to Peter, knowing he heard everything.

"Same goes to you."

Thanos let go of Tony, who collapsed on his knees.

Peter was paralyzed. He desperately wanted to run to Tony, but he was afraid Thanos might want to finish the job if he got too close.

Out of nowhere, a gigantic piece of metal hit Thanos, the force of it sending him sprawling yards away. Peter realized at this moment that the weight on his mind was gone. He got up and stumbled toward Tony as fast as he could, getting to his knees as he arrived next to him. The blade was still buried in place.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my— do-don't move, okay?"

Peter didn't know what to do. He was no paramedic. He couldn't leave the blade like that; but he also knew that removing it could cause severe internal bleeding. Tony needed to get medical attention as fast as possible. But they were trillions of miles away from the closest hospital.

Tony flapped his hand at him, motioning him away.

"You're too close."

Peter moved back a little— and reacted too late to stop Tony from jerking the blade out of his abdomen. Tony held back a grunt.

"What are you doing?!" panicked Peter.

"Calm down, it's ok."

"No it's not!"

"Look, the nanoparticles in my armor were designed to sustain traumatic injuries. It will hold on for a time."

As he said so, he used his gauntlet to project particles into his wound, filling it perfectly and stopping the bleeding. He removed his glove and handed it to Peter.

"Here. Can you do my back?"

Peter nodded.

"The stone on Vision's forehead— it was an Infinity Stone?" he asked as he did what Tony told him to.

It was Tony's turn to nod.

"Yes. He always referred to it as an entity of its own. I didn't realize until today what it was. If I had known, I would have tried to… I don't' know. Remove it or something. Protect him."

Peter handed back his piece of armor to Tony, who surprised him by grabbing his wrist.

"Listen. What Thanos said. We cannot listen to him. By coming here, we made a choice. YOU made a choice. We need to keep fighting. Do you hear me? We can't let him win."

Tony's mind was made. His look said everything his voice didn't: he was ready to die to stop Thanos. He had been the moment he knew who the titan was.

Peter was hesitant, and he hated that he was, because he knew what was at stake.

"One life isn't isn't worth trillions."

It was as if Tony had read his mind. Peter shook his head.

"It's unfair…"

"It's always been."

Thanos was assaulted full force by a newcomer before he got the chance to fully stand up.

"Where's Gamora?" she asked.

"So you came," he replied, wiping his mouth.

"You should have killed me when you had the opportunity."

"It would have been a waste of parts."

She screamed, running at him, blades at the ready. She fought fiercely, driven by rage and hatred.

Star Lord had recognized her voice. Her question gave him enough force to stand up and rejoin the fight.

"Where's Gamora?" he repeated from a distance, firing his pistol.

The newcomer was the one to answer him.

"He went to Vormir with her. He came back with the Soul Stone. She didn't." She turned to Thanos, passionate. "Where is she?"

Thanos' look hardened.

"She had to be sacrificed."

Star Lord lost it. He entered a frenzy, shooting blasts in a complete unrestrained manner, throwing everything he had at Thanos.

"You asshole! How could you do that to your own daughter?"

"It was the hardest choice I ever had to make. But it was a necessary one for the sake of the universe."

"Don't talk about her death as if it served a great purpose. She hates you and everything you represent! And she would never, never, want to be associated to the death of half the universe!"

Star Lord came too close to Thanos. He swiped him with the back of his hand as easily as one would a fly. Star Lord flew to the ground. Groggy, he didn't get back on his feet quickly enough to stop Thanos from picking him up.

"You did a good job at convincing yourself you love her. You almost made it sound like you have a heart for a sec," Star Lord spat at him, his need to spew venom stronger than the restriction of airflow caused by Thanos' grip on his rib cage. "But let me tell you: this is not love. We don't kill people we love, no matter what."

"Funny. I remember you were ready to kill her yourself."

Star Lord did not answer this; his glare said plenty enough.

Yards away, Peter's spider-sense went off like crazy, causing him to stop his discussion with Tony to look up in their direction.

"Love is a complicated thing," continued Thanos. "I would not expect you to understand. But one thing is for certain: I don't need love to kill."

With that he raised his fist and hit Star Lord in the face. A crude, plain, strong hit. The crack his skull made as it split open resonated through the empty battleground like thunder. Star Lord went limp in his hand. Thanos discarded him.

Peter saw the blow coming. He tried to intervene, but he was too far. He didn't manage to arrive fast enough. While he had been debating over what choice to make — because he had been selfish — someone had died. He felt horrified. Useless. Disgusted.

They weren't strong enough to defeat Thanos. Four people were already down; two of them dead. And Peter hadn't been there to help either of them. How could they just stop Thanos?

'_No matter how we approach this fight, there is no way we win it. We lose no matter what.'_

Peter's cry echoed the newcomer's. They both jumped on Thanos, joined by Strange. But something was different this time. As if until then, Thanos had been playing with them. Making them believe they had the slightest chance. He was done playing.

Without any warning, he opened a hole under the newcomer's feet and had it closed as soon as she disappeared inside. He then turned to Peter.

"I see you decided to play hero. How foolish. You brought this upon yourself."

He closed his fist.

It all happened in slow motion. Following his instinct, Peter turned toward Tony just in time to see a spike shoot out of the ground and impale him, lifting him up. His feet dangled in the air. His first wound look like a scratch in comparison.

"No!" Peter screamed.

Peter should have felt it coming; the hand that swiped him. He should have. But as soon as Thanos hurt Tony, Peter's vision had tunneled in spite of him and the decisions he had taken but moments ago. The blow was so strong he lost consciousness before he hit the ground.

When Peter came around, he didn't know how long he had been out. His head hurt like hell. When he tried to get up, he found out he couldn't; and it was not because of the spell of dizziness that hit him. He had been restrained with chains emerging straight from the ground. He didn't have the strength to break them.

Looking up, he found Strange yards away from him, lying on the ground. As he tried to get up, he was assaulted by a liquid that forced him down. It slithered all over his body until it covered everything but his head and torso, then hardened to immobilize him. He was pinned to the ground, helpless. Thanos was towering over him.

"I draw my magic from other dimensions," Strange tried to explain, winded. "If you try to force the ward that protects the Stone using the other Infinity Stones, interdimensional forces will collide. You could shatter this entire reality."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." Thanos' tone said clearly that he did not believe him.

"You've used the Mind Stone. You went into my mind. You saw the outcome of what you're about to attempt."

"You are full of tricks, Wizard. I've seen what you wanted me to see. But that doesn't make it true."

"I figure there's no talking you out of it."

"I have been waiting for too long."

Thanos raised his hand toward the necklace.

Strange set his jaw, resigned.

Peter's spider-sense bellowed like it never had before. His vision turned black from the strength of it.

"Don't!" he shouted, powerless.

He heard nothing but the clicks of the gauntlet forming itself into a fist.

Then he felt it. The blast of power hit him, burning him through his suit.

Everything went eerily calm, clashing with his still overwhelming spider-sense. The chains that restrained him disintegrated.

Slowly, his body accommodated itself to his spider-sense, allowing him to find back his sight. He got up. He couldn't think of any part of his body that hurt any less than an other.

He couldn't think at all.

He started limping. As he did so, deep, deafening cracks could be heard. They came from nowhere.

No.

Everywhere.

He couldn't really tell.

He walked by Doctor Strange and Thanos' still fuming bodies without really seeing them. Their skeletons bare but for bits of muscles here and there. The force had churned their bodies. The necklace was opened, half melted. Peter didn't notice the shatters of Stones layering the ground.

His feet took him to Tony, his mind too blank to think by itself. The blast had unhooked Tony from the spike. The gash in his guts was too big. The side of him that had been exposed to the explosion was badly burned.

"So… that's how it ends."

His voice weak, gurglish from the blood trickling down his mouth. But he was alive.

Tony was alive.

Peter's wits came back to him. He fell to his knees at his mentor's side. He removed his mask. His voice was shaking.

"Don't say that. We're- we're gonna find a solution. What… what about your nanotech? Huh? Can you give me that glove?"

Tony looked at him calmly. He had already accepted what Peter couldn't.

"It's pointless. You know it."

"No. No it's not. Let me just try-"

"You look terrible," tried to joke Tony. "You… "

All his attempts at light-heartedness left him.

"What have I done?" he rasped. He tried to swallow. He turned his head away, not able to look at Peter anymore.

"You're too young. I should never have dragged you in this mess with me. I failed to protect you."

"What are you talking about? Look, I'm still alive. Huh? I'm still alive."

It was as if Tony didn't hear him.

"I failed to protect Pepper. Pepper… I'm so sorry. I failed you too. I failed everyone. If I had swallowed my anger… If… If we had been united— maybe things would have been different."

His voice was full of remorse. Shame radiated of him in such strong waves it was almost palpable. Tony was… crying?

Peter was unaware of the tears he was shedding himself.

He gently tapped Tony's unburned cheek.

"Hey, hey, Tony! Look at me."

This seemed to shake Tony out of his stupor. He looked at him.

"We will get home. You will see Pepper again. It's not too late yet. All right? We can fix this."

Tony fake smiled.

"I'll do as if I believed you."

His voice was weaker.

He looked Peter up and down, concern appearing again on his features. His hands shot up, trying to remove one of his gloves. Peter stopped him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, what are you doing?"

"You're bleeding badly. You should take this. You need it more than I do."

"Didn't you hear the part where I said '_we_'re going home'?"

Tony's hands fell. He didn't have the strength to lift them anymore.

"You're a good kid, Peter. I'm sorry it has to end that way."

"No, don't you say it. I already lost Ben, I refuse to lose you too. We'll find a way."

Tony stared at him.

"Tony?"

He didn't answer.

No. He was not staring at him. He was looking at nothing in particular.

Peter tapped his cheek gently. Tony didn't react.

"Tony!"

He tapped more forcefully.

"Please, talk to me!"

Still Tony didn't move.

"Say something! Anything! Tony!"

Peter placed two fingers at his throat, looking for a pulse. He found none. He put his mask back on. Without wasting any time, he started CPR.

"Karen, give me the CPR rhythm."

"Peter, I don't think-"

"Karen!"

She did not discuss anymore, providing a metronome to guide the correct pulsation.

Peter pumped like crazy, giving his everything.

"Come on Tony, you're not dying on me. You hear me?"

He pumped, looking away from Tony's guts, ignoring the gurgles of blood shooting out of the wound with every pressure of his hands. He fixated Tony's eyes, convincing himself that if he wanted it strongly enough, those eyes would blink and life would come back to them.

It just had to.

Peter didn't know how long he spent trying to revive Tony. But the gurgles had long stopped.

At long last, he had to accept the truth. Tony was dead.

And he died because of him.

Peter got to his feet without realizing it, oblivious to the huge cracks running on the ground, unaware of the fissures appearing out of thin air and sucking objects of varying size into them. He didn't notice how gravity seemed to lose its attraction as some pebble started hovering above the ground.

His mind was blank. Unable to focus. Overwhelmed.

His spider-sense was louder than ever, telling him to flee.

The metronome was still ticking.

And he had killed Tony.

If only he hadn't listened to him. If he had stayed by his side, Tony wouldn't be dead. The outcome would have been the same anyway. And together, they could have tried to find a solution.

But Tony was right about one thing. If they had been united… He meant the Avengers. Together they would have had a bigger chance. Somehow, he always knew that it was a bad thing that the Avengers split up like they did. His guts probably felt it would end that way. He should have seen it coming, all those years ago, in Germany. Tried to talk them out of it. Maybe they could have found another solution.

No. Who was he kidding? He was just a kid. Nobody would have listened to him. But he could have tried anyways. Afterwards. Instead of following Tony blindly. He had wasted years. He had been so naive. Knowing Tony the way he did now, he realized that sometimes Tony wasn't good at making taking the best decisions for himself. If all of them had just been able to look past their problems… Maybe they could have saved the universe.

Peter felt dizzy. He didn't know if it was because of his spider-sense, or the shock he was in. Maybe a mix of both. Or could it be blood loss? Tony did say he bled a lot.

Peter looked down, partially paying attention to himself for the first time since he woke up. His suit had melted into his own skin in places. The rest had been either badly damaged or completely torn away. Those parts revealed bare skin, burnt to the third degree when it had not been ripped off in chunks. He had been closer than Tony to the explosion… Well, this explained the pain.

Peter should have been panicking. He had never been that hurt before. But he couldn't bring himself to care. He was dissociating.

Finally the ringing in his hears won over the too loud rumble. It was a blessing. Peter tripped. Or was it just that his legs couldn't bear him anymore? It didn't really matter. He was feeling better on the ground anyway. He was sleepy. It was almost comfortable.

For some reason, it reminded him his home. Not his own apartment. But Aunt May's place.

Aunt May… He hadn't told her goodbye. Did Pepper tell her he left on the spaceship? She must have been so worried. She always worried about him. Even if she hid it well enough in the last years. He felt sorry for all the pressure he inflicted her. She was the best. Always supportive, no matter what. She didn't deserve it. All the pain. She did grow a few white hairs prematurely because of him. She didn't deserve to have her husband killed because of him. She was never angry at him, even when he told her after she learned about Spider-man.

He would have wanted her to be mad at him, like he was still mad at himself. He couldn't accept how his mistake had cost the life of someone he loved.

But this mistake was nothing compared to one they just committed. All of his loved ones would die now. Aunt May. MJ. Ned. To cite just a few. Because that's what it was, right? The end of the world. That was what the wizard said would happen if Thanos did what he did.

He did not even had the opportunity to tell Ned he flew a spaceship—

Peter didn't realize it when he stopped breathing. His mind had gone too far away.

He had not realized he was lying right in a field of Infinity Stones shards either.

His glassy, unfocused eyes didn't see how the shards shone, lifted of the ground by the lack of gravity, not long after the last trickle of life had left his body.

**?**

Everything was dark around him. It felt wrong.

It shouldn't be completely dark; it was obvious the sounds coming to him were set outside.

He had trouble breathing. The air was too hot. Too moist.

He felt claustrophobic; wrapped in fabric loose enough to have room to move, but too tight to really find his way out of it. He sat up, trashing about in his pathetic prison.

Clueless on how to proceed peacefully, and starting to slightly panic on the edges, Peter ripped the fabric apart. Cool air washed over his torso. It felt good. It was a good start. But his arms were still trapped. So he ripped the fabric around them too, freeing them in turn.

His vision was still dark. Reaching up, Peter put his hands on his face.

Oooooohh.

It was his mask. And the thing he ripped was probably his costume. Oops. He'd have to head back to the facility sometimes soon to make a new one. Tony wasn't going to—

Tony.

Peter snatched the mask of his face, needing to inhale fresh air on the spot before he started hyperventilating.

Tony!

Too late for the hyperventilation.

Everything came to him at once, overwhelming him. Titan. Thanos. The end of the universe.

Tony's death.

"Oh my God."

He had to tell Pepper. He had no idea how to. She would be devastated.

Then Peter realized something was wrong. Looking around him, he was clearly not on Titan. He was in a small alley in Manhattan, New York; one he had used countless of times before to change into his suit. No one ever came here. That's why he liked this place: there was nobody to pry on him.

How the hell had he got here?

"What the—"

He clasped his hand to his throat, surprised. His voice was too high pitched.

It was the voice of a child.

But now that he was paying attention to his surroundings, it did seem like things were too big around him, regardless of the fact that he was sitting. And looking at his limbs, they looked like they were out of proportion. Too short.

"No. No, no no, no, no."

The high pitch of his voice did nothing to reassure him. And getting up to his feet only confirmed him that he was smaller than he normally was. Way smaller.

He needed to tell Pepper about Tony's death. He needed to find out what had happened to him.

He was kind of surprised that New York was still standing, honestly. It wouldn't be for long though, judging by the general state of panic the people running past the alley were in.

Peter shivered. Looking down, he noticed he was completely naked without the shreds that were left of his suit.

"Oh. Great."

He gathered it as best as he could around his middle section to at least try to keep some privacy around his parts. Holding it awkwardly, he reached down one of his gloves to retrieve a web-shooter, but quickly realized the wristband was too loose for the shooter to be of any use. Grunting, he put it back inside the sleeve, along with his dead phone he had found in a pocket, before tying the both of them around his thighs and waist to somewhat hold the suit in place. This would have to do. Even if the legs were still way too long on him. Luckily for him, the weather had the coolness of a nice spring day. He could make it bare-chested, even though it wouldn't be comfortable.

Peter put his mask back on. He couldn't see anything through the lenses.

"Karen?" he tried.

He got no answer. He must have torn important circuits in his panic. He should have listened to Tony and his 'the more back-ups, the better.' He removed the mask to tuck it into his improvised belt.

Peter was starting to have suspicions on the 'what' of 'what happened to him'; but he was still clueless as to the 'how.' He needed some height to put things in perspective before he got to Pepper. And he couldn't stand in this alley any longer. It was honestly shear luck that nobody had ran into it so far.

He reached for a wall, already regretting the pant legs he was dragging behind him. He extended his arm out of habit, only to be remembered abruptly that it was shorter than it should be. Grunting, he was forced to take another step closer to the wall. This whole thing wasn't gonna be fun.

Then doubt struck him. What if… ? With the mess he just woke up in, it was a possibility.

He put his hand to wall.

And was relieved to find it stuck to it, just as usual.

Peter climbed his way up the building, tripping too many times on his suit for his liking. He reached the top—

And stopped.

On top of the building directly facing him was the carcass of a Chitauri war worm.

"What…"

He looked around him, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Had Thanos sent other Chitauris to attack the Earth while they were fighting on Titan? He spotted a newspaper that had been left abandoned on the roof he was standing on. Peter went to pick it up. It had been weathered by the elements, but it still looked fairly recent. Days old maybe. No more.

It was dated May 2012.

"…the hell?"


	2. From One Tragedy To Another

**Chapter 2: From One Tragedy to Another**

**May 2012**

Peter's mind couldn't start to comprehend what was going on. One moment it was the end of the world, the next he awoke to a completely different kind of chaos. How could he have ended up in 2012 when he had just witnessed the entire reality shatter in front of his very eyes?

He didn't know what was true anymore. Was he dreaming? Was his brain imagining some kind of fantasy in its last moments?

Peter felt sick to the stomach, the state of extreme confusion he was in bleeding onto his physical body. He could feel the air that was so distinguishably New York filling his lungs with every breath he took. Feel the pebbles on the rooftop digging into his bare feet through his suit. Hear the commotion of chaos many stories down below.

Yet, he doubted the reality of it. The events on Titan were still so vivid in his mind. He could remember every second of the fight. If he just closed his eyes he could see Thanos deliberately raise his fist towards Strange in the final moments of the encounter, impervious to the knowledge his choice would lead to. Peter's mind was filled with the sound of the metronome ticking as he stared into Tony's unblinking eyes, blood oozing from his mouth, gurgles coming from a giant hole in his guts -

It couldn't have been a dream. It just couldn't. Tony had always seemed immortal, as if his charisma and brains alone could be armor against anything. Peter couldn't have imagined him leaving in such a horrific way.

He wasn't able to stand the solitude of the roof anymore. He needed to see people - anyone, really - just to make sure that his mind wasn't tricking him, that he was indeed back on Earth. Peter got back down in his alley, only half aware he was doing so.

All the while, the deafening rumble the universe itself made as it split apart was ragging through his ears, for him alone to hear.

It's in a daze that he walked out in the open. The street was in an advanced state of destruction, the likes of which Peter had rarely seen, even as Spider-man. The asphalt was broken open in many places, revealing the dirt underneath it. One of the holes was so deep that a punctured water pipe was spreading its content out on the street. Cars were turned upside down; some smoking, some others outright burning. Entire pieces of buildings were scattered on the ground, leaving gaping holes where edifices should have been plain. People were evacuating buildings briskly, some even running, all headed in the same direction, following policemen's instructions. Some were crying, some clearly panicking, while others were just too shocked to utter a single word.

But none of this had captured Peter's attention. As soon as he emerged from the alley, his eyes had locked with the bodies laying strewn on the ground. There was a massive number of them. Without realizing it, Peter took a few steps towards them, before his legs gave out under him. If a few seconds ago he was still doubting about being somehow back in 2012, he wasn't anymore. The sight of the dead bodies had all but sent his mind back to Titan and the consequences of their defeat. Because this - this scene right in front of his eyes - looked like the end of the world if anything was. So many people had died because of him. Because he had failed to take down a single person.

Sobs he could no longer contain escaped him as realization hit him full force. He saw the universe collapse. He saw people die, Tony amongst them. But just how many didn't he see? His Aunt. His friends. People he knew, and people he didn't.

The entire human civilization. And trillions of others.

Billions of years of history and evolution and creation, of mysteries uncovered and mysteries yet to be found. Potential to improve, evolve and become more. All stolen in a snap.

His sobs were uncontrollable, just as his emotions were. If he had been in his right state of mind, he would never have allowed himself to break down like he was in public. But as things were, he was definitely not in his right state of mind. He wasn't even aware people had stopped to stare at him, asking him if he was ok.

He was oblivious. His thoughts were stuck on Titan, and the bodies in front of him were the victims of his mistakes. He could only see that one person in particular whose abdomen was pierced by a steel rod. Gurgles were coming from the wound as the metronome ticked the rhythm, his glassy eyes looking at nothing, and Peter pressed on his rib cage and pressed and pressed and pressed -

It was more than he could handle. Peter spasmed forward and threw up bile, his excess emotions finding a way out of his body. Confusion. Loss. Despair. Half supporting his weight with his hands, he clenched them, scraping his knuckles on the asphalt. He didn't even feel it. He closed his eyes shut, heaving, thick tears slipping through his lids. A long wail escaped him. He tried to make it as quiet as possible; but he couldn't keep it inside.

'_You're a good kid, Peter. I'm sorry it has to end that way.'_

"Are you alright? Where are your parents?"

A hand set on one of his shoulders. Taken by surprise, Peter reacted reflexively. In a blur of motion, he kicked the person kneeling by his side in the chest, jumped on his feet and backed off several paces… until he tripped on his suit and landed on his buttocks. The shock snapped him back to the present. He found himself looking at a policewoman who was staring back at him with surprise, in a position similar to his.

Peter glanced around him. He took in the crowd of curious onlookers who had gathered around them. The more faces he assimilated, the more he was aware he was making a spectacle of himself. He felt exposed.

The woman got back onto her feet and approached him more cautiously this time, as if reflecting after every single step she took whether the next one would startle him away.

"Don't worry honey, it seems to be over now. Are you ok? What's your name?" she asked, her voice coated in the softness typically reserved for when addressing children.

A growing anger replaced the embarrassment. Everyone's attention, even the policewoman's, was turned on him. On _him_. Instead of checking on the people on the ground. Maybe it wasn't too late for some of them, and they still could be helped. People shouldn't be wasting their time on him. Abashed, Peter could only look back and forth between the bodies and the woman, not trusting himself not to explode on her if he opened his mouth. He was hoping the gesture in itself would convey his thoughts well enough. It did not.

"They won't hurt you anymore, it's ok."

_Hurt me?_

That's when Peter saw the bodies for what they really were for the first time. Chitauri. Dozens of them, laying amongst the wreckage of their own wagons.

Well. That would explain the general lack of empathy for them. Peter cooled down immediately. He was still lost and confused, but even in this state he could understand he overreacted. Deep down, he even felt relieved. The woman extended a hand to Peter.

"I'll help you find your parents."

Peter got back onto his feet by himself, refusing her help. He shook his hands in denial.

"N-No, I'm fine."

Peter felt almost attacked by the youthfulness of his voice. It sounded so small, so fragile, even to his own ears. And now that he was standing and looking around him, he felt even smaller, crushed by the height difference between him and the other adults staring at him.

To prove his answer to the policewoman, Peter wiped the tears and the snot of his face. Then almost chuckled. The gesture was so childlike, he couldn't make anyone believe he was fine. Hell, he himself knew he wasn't. The end of the world was still playing over and over in his mind; he had just pushed it at the back of it to handle the more pressing matters.

In a way, he felt grateful for the woman's intervention as it helped him escape from the ever going train of his thoughts. But he was now all too aware of how scrutinized he was by the crowde who had gathered around him. Of course. A kid wailing loudly on the ground, only half dressed in a weird suit many sizes too big on him was definitely bound to attract stares. Already feeling extremely uncomfortable for being in a body that was not his own, the focused attention of people around him felt too much.

"Come on - "

Peter didn't let the policewoman finish.

"Sorry for pushing you."

He then allowed his instincts to kick in and bolted away, dodging all too easily the few onlookers who had not been too surprised by his unexpected run to try to grab him. As much as he had needed to see people when he first came down, he now wanted privacy more than anything else. Sure enough, some people started to follow him. For all his frantic run, it was a miracle Peter didn't trip once on his suit. He dove into the first alley he came by and all but jumped onto a wall, scrambling it as fast as he could and stopping only when his pursuers' footsteps came too close, so as not to attract their attention. Holding his breath, he watched them from above go forward without ever looking up once. The police woman was at the lead, signaling in her radio a "missing boy". Great. Obviously no adult in their right mind would leave a child unsupervised, especially on a battleground. But Peter wasn't really a kid and he surely didn't need a "wanted" poster of himself plastered all around the island. As the last person exited the other side of the alley, Peter resumed his climb at a slower pace. Once on top, he crossed the roof, running, and jumped onto the next building. And then the one after. He kept going from building to building, putting more and more distance between him, his thoughts and his good-willed assailants. He only stopped when he reached a building that had no other building close enough that he felt confident to safely jump onto. Not only was his suit really starting to bother him, but he had noticed throughout his parkour that his strength seemed diminished. Allowing himself to breath, he sat down, a bit concerned that this run had him winded.

Peter wasn't sure if he was actually in 2012 or if he was dreaming it all. But if he was, it felt all too real. Peter pushed back down the dread that was threatening to rise again; no matter which situation was the correct one, both were too much for him. But there was no way he was pulling another break down like the one he had earlier. The emotions were still vivid, lurking just below the surface, waiting for the right trigger to run loose. But he wasn't having it again. Not ever. He had hated to feel exposed and not in control of himself, letting his emotions blind him so much he wasn't able to perceive correctly the world around him.

_All right, focus, Pete_. If he was indeed in 2012, he might as well make the best out of it. And if he was not, well… At least that would keep him busy until whatever was supposed to happen happened.

First thing, he needed to tell Pepper about Tony's death. He didn't feel ready. How was he supposed to announce to someone that the love of their life was dead? He wanted to spare her the gruesome details. But he knew she would want to know everything, and he wouldn't have the ability to say no.

So, the question was: if this was indeed the battle of New York in 2012, where could Pepper be? It seemed to be the end of it. Peter didn't remember hearing any fighting raging in the city since he woke up. And if the dead Chitauri were any indication, Tony must have sent the nuke in space alrea-

Peter facepalmed really hard, the movement clashing with the big smile that suddenly sprung on his face at the obvious realization.

If he was in 2012, then Tony was still alive.

He didn't have to tell Pepper about Tony's death, because it simply hadn't happened all together. Instead, Peter could go straight to Tony to warn him about Thanos. That way, they would have a decade to prepare. A full _decade_. That was enough time to really plan out an assault; not one with a random team composed of a wizard, an engineer (but the coolest one) and a spider, but the real deal. The whole Avengers team. The core members, and the more recent additions. Damn, they could even get non-members all together, like the Black Panther or Ant-Man. Together they had a chance. Together -

A sombre thought crossed Peter's mind, casting a shadow over his optimistic projection.

This was 2012. In 2012, Peter was 10 years old. At this age, he definitely didn't have his powers. And yet, here he was. So if he was different, what proof did he have that everything was as it was in his memories? How could he be sure that Tony was alive?

The small bubble of hope that had formed in his heart popped, releasing only a heavy anxiety that settled on his stomach.

_Dammit useless brain, thanks for overworking again._

Peter needed to know. It was that lack of knowledge, that doubt, that drove him back down in the streets once more. He felt almost betrayed at the idea that he could have been sent in the past only to see his short-lived hope to meet with Tony again crumble once more. To have his chance to see him, even just one last time, taken away before he could even register the idea entirely. A part of him felt stupid for feeling so distressed when he didn't even know if he was dreaming. But he just couldn't help it.

He had to ask someone; his dead phone couldn't deliver the answer to his question. But the part of the city he was in was deserted. There was something eerie in walking along such a lifeless avenue. It never was that still. Even at night, the city was swarmed in movement; something was always happening. But not here, not now. The billboards and the TVs on display in stores were broadcasting nothing but the pitch black of a turned off screen. The power must have been cut.

Amplified by the silence, muffled cries in the distance caught Peter's attention. His feet took their direction automatically. They were coming from a teared opening in a building, a few stories above the ground. Since no one was around and his spider-sense was silent, Peter scaled the edifice and entered it at the appropriate floor. He found himself in an open space office with a good portion of the ceiling collapsed, revealing several stories above. Someone was trapped underneath the rubble, completely hidden from view.

"Hello?" asked Peter. He tried to lower the pitch of his voice as best he could. "Can you hear me?" The result wasn't really convincing.

"Oh my God, thank you!" a man replied, relief flowing strongly in his panicked tone. "Yes, I can hear you! I need help, I'm stuck and I can't move—"

Helping people who couldn't do it for themselves was routine. Peter unconsciously took comfort in the familiarity of the situation: the fact that he was finally somewhat in control of something helped ground him. He pushed aside his own worries and switched into Spidey mode.

"I'm gonna need you to calm down. Can you do that for me? I'm gonna help you."

"Alright, yes, I - alright. Thank you," the man panted in reply. He didn't seem to question him.

Peter grabbed his mask. Even though he'd already been seen by a bunch of people in his half suit (and to his distaste, probably filmed), Peter didn't entertain the idea of using his abilities bare-faced in front of a stranger. If he were indeed filmed, and the video ended up buzzing on internet, the man would most likely recognize him anyways; but habits die hard. Peter put his mask on his head without great expectations and, sure enough, the lenses were completely opaque. He took it off with a sigh. That'll teach him for making a suit relying entirely on technology.

He did have another idea though… One that gave him a small lump in his throat. Peter took a last look at his mask, making sure to commit to memory the appearance he already knew by heart, then flipped it over. Better be quick about it. Without giving himself time to second guess his choice, Peter ripped his mask in half, from the back of the neck down to the top of the head. He tied the remainder of it in a half mask, hence covering the lowest half of his face. It was the best he could do.

Thus attired, he walked to the pile of rubble the man's voice came from.

"What's your name?"

"Jack."

Peter located where Jack's head must be.

"Jack, I need you to tell me. Are you hurt somewhere? Is anything crushing you?"

"N—No, I'm fine. I'm below a desk, but I'm stuck and I have very little space to move."

"Ok, things are looking good. I will remove the debris. Tell me if anything moves around you."

"You can actually do that?"

"Wait and see."

Peter got to work, reassured that his chances to accidentally crush Jack were pretty low.

"Is anyone else in the room with you?" asked Peter.

"I don't think so. Everyone evacuated, but I was too scared to move from below my desk… Serves me right, I should have gone with them."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. A space invasion is always scary for some reason."

"So that's what it is? Aliens?"

"Yup."

"Oh. Wow."

"Yeah. I know. It seems to be over now, though."

"Good."

Peter worked in silence for a bit. The bits of ceiling were heavier than they looked at first. Dammit.

"Hey Jack… You don't happen to have a smartphone by any chance?" Peter asked in a huff.

"I do, but I can't reach it, so I couldn't call for help."

"Once I get you out, can you quickly look something up for me?"

"Dude, if you get me out of there, I'll do whatever you want."

"Awesome, thanks."

Soon after, Peter had removed the last obstacle to Jack's freedom. A man in his early twenties wearing a dusty suit emerged from his former prison.

"Thank you so so much, man. I don't know how much longer I would have stayed in there without you—" Jack stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Peter. "Wow. That's a look."

"Come on man, you've seen a lot of weird things today. I'm sure I'm not the weirdest."

Jack shrugged, dismissing the matter, and reached for his phone.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. What is it you need to know?"

"Is Tony Stark alive?"

"Give me a sec'," Jack said, typing furiously on his phone. He gave his answer a little while after. "Apparently he is. Twitter says he's been spotted two minutes ago in a… shawarma place? No idea what that is though."

Relief flooded through Peter, washing away a huge weight off of his stomach.

"Wow, dude, thank you so much!"

"You're welcome?"

"That's the place on 39th street, right?" Peter asked, wanting to make sure his memories were correct.

Jack checked his phone once more.

"Seems like it is."

"Great. Thanks a lot, really!" Peter slowly started to walk back towards the hole in the wall, still facing Jack. "Well, I should get going. Can you make it on your own from now on?"

"Yeah, I should be alright."

"Awesome" Peter said, giving him a thumbs up before turning away.

But as he reached the opening, he stopped.

"Uh… Jack? Can I ask you one last thing?"

"Yeah, of course."

Peter wasn't sure if it was worth asking, but Jack seemed like a good enough guy that it just might work.

"Could you like… Don't tell anyone about me? Keep it a secret?"

"I told you. I'll do whatever you want. You saved me, that's the least I can do," Jack replied with such a sincere tone that it surprised Peter.

"Wow. Thanks. That's— Thanks."

With that, Peter jumped out of the building, an audible gasp from Jack resonating behind him. He slowed down his fall short of hitting the ground by sliding slightly less sticky than usual hand and foot against the façade, and took off at a run as soon as he landed. The shawarma restaurant was no more than five blocks away.

Meeting Jack had lifted Peter's spirit. So far the events seemed to unravel like they were supposed to, which meant that, right now, Tony was celebrating their victory against Loki with the other Avengers. Peter had to tell them about Thanos as soon as possible. But he had no idea how to break it down to them, even less make them believe him. He himself had had a hard time realizing how serious the threat was until it was too late; but he had to try nonetheless.

The idea of facing the whole Avengers team was quite intimidating to him though. Apart from Tony and Natasha, Peter had never really met any other members. He briefly talked with Cap a few years ago, back in Germany; but that was it. He only had had a few glimpses here and there of Hawkeye. He had never seen Thor or Hulk. And even if he did train with Natasha for a few sessions, they had never talked long enough for them to become remotely close — if such a thing was possible with her to begin with. She was scary.

And here he was, completely disheveled, with a crazy story to tell.

Yup, they would totally believe him, no doubt.

Peter gritted his teeth and shook his head. He couldn't go in there completely discouraged. The stakes were too big. He had to convince them, there was no other way. One thing he could do was to at least change clothes. Not only would he attract less attention (and be less recognizable at that since the 39th street seemed to be populated), but it would make him look more normal. More believable.

He tried really hard to convince himself about that last part.

A deserted self-service Laundromat caught Peter's eyes, its glass doors left wide open. He reluctantly stepped inside, trying not to think too hard about what he was about to do. The occupants must have fled with everyone else, leaving their belongings behind. Peter started to rummage through drums after drums of dryers, trying to find clothes that would fit him. He didn't want to steal, but desperate times called for desperate deeds. He ended up settling for the smallest hoodie and sweatpants he could find. They still looked oversized on him. As he was tying his pants as tight as he could, he walked to the counter and looked for a pen and paper. He teared it in smaller pieces, wrote "Sorry for taking your stuff :(" on each of them, and disposed them near the concerned dryers. It did not lessen his guilt by any means; but that was the least he could do. He put one more note near another dryer for a pair of socks, and kept the last one for a backpack he spotted. He would not leave his suit behind, even if it was rendered completely useless. Almost ready to leave, Peter turned the backpack upside down to empty its content. Amongst the various objects that fell was a pocket mirror, which opened as it made contact with the ground.

If time hadn't stopped, then it felt just like it did.

Peter stared at his reflection, frozen. The image the mirror was reflecting back to him… No… It couldn't -

He needed a bigger mirror. Fast.

Peter rushed to the bathroom. Without thinking, he scaled the wall to reach the too high-positioned glass and -

There it was.

His face, but not quite. It was his traits alright; he could recognize the shape of his nose, the fullness of his younger face cheeks. But the colors were off. His hair was blond instead of his usual brown. Wide blue eyes were looking right back at him. Even his skin looked a shade lighter.

It was like staring at a pale copy of himself.

But worse than that was the terrible knowledge that came with seeing his reflection.

Peter had realized that something was wrong, that he had to have de-aged. Too many things had been pointing in that direction for him to ignore. Until this very moment, he had refused to acknowledge it, to really consider it a problem. But now that he could see his face for the first time since he woke up in that alley, having to stick to the wall because he was too small to reach the mirror, he just knew.

He couldn't go to Tony.

Everything in his appearance screamed 'child'. And if there was one thing Tony was bad with, it was children. He was even terrible. They made him uncomfortable and he had no idea how to behave around them. There was no way he would listen to his warnings. Absolutely no way. At the very best, he would dismiss them as '_cute children fantasies'._ Peter had nothing but his words to prove he was actually a young adult. Trying to defend his point would be as effective as shouting into the void. Just how many times had he himself heard children say "I'm big now" and smiled at that?

Tony would never take a kid seriously, and definitely not one he didn't know. It was 2012, which meant that Tony had never heard of Peter. They weren't mentor-student acquittances yet. Even less friends. The trust they had spent years to build between each other was simply non-existent.

Peter slowly let himself slide down.

He couldn't go to Tony because he didn't know if he had the strength to look at his friend and see only indifference in his eyes. Because he didn't know if he could stand to be rejected when it had never been more important that he be listened to.

Peter left the bathroom, put his suit in the backpack and exited the Laundromat.

Ironically, now that his ideas about his situation were clearer, he was more in the dark than ever. He didn't know what to do. He still felt the urge to do something regarding Thanos, but telling Tony, or any other Avenger, was out of the question. Not now. Not like that. He would only screw his chance to be heard.

He was completely lost.

So he took the direction of the only place he knew he would always be welcome and supported no matter what: home.

It took Peter more than three hours to rejoin Queens, with all the congested public transportations full of people fleeing the island and the power outage that slowed down the process even more. All the while, Peter had his hood drawn up, trying to be as unnoticeable as he could. He was left alone for the majority of the trip, and managed to slip away the rest of the time when he was addressed.

It felt weird to be back in his neighborhood and see it again the way it was years ago. Changes normally occur little by little, allowing people to get used to them and blend seamlessly in their daily life. A new house erecting from the ground. A tree taken down. A store turning into another one. But to be presented with a VIP access to the before picture was like a slap in the face at every corner. It was crazy how much things could change in just ten years.

Peter tried to focus on all the differences he could spot between his version of Queens and the one he had in front of his eyes. The goal was to divert his mind from the upcoming discussion he was bound to have with his aunt; it worked for most of his walk to his apartment complex, but his thoughts inevitably wandered back to where he didn't want them. He had no idea what he would say to her and it was daunting. Should he go for the full story? She would freak out. But she would freak out no matter what, because there was no way he could hide the fact that he looked different, so he would have to explain a part of the story no matter what. She was probably freaking out right now anyway, between the Chitauri invasion and his not being at her side. It was one of the reasons that kept him going in spite of his apprehension. The other was that he needed to see a familiar face. He needed someone to tell him that things were going to be okay, because he was rendered to a point where he had a hard time believing in that himself. He needed the steadiness she always offered him. In the past, he had often tried to keep her from the mess his life was, and just as often, she had not only figured out everything he had tried to hide from her, but she had guided him through the fog like the lighthouse she was. And if anything, Peter was more than ever a ship lost in the shitstorm of life. May didn't deserve the emotional turmoil he was about to put her in. But he knew she would take it like a champ', just like she did when she discovered he was Spider-man. So he kept going.

He didn't slow down his pace when his apartment building came into view. If anything, he walked faster. There was nothing he could do to make it easier on the both of them, so he might as well just go for it and be done with it.

When he reached the entry, Peter hesitated briefly. He wasn't ready. He needed to do it.

He rang the intercom.

The seconds of waiting stretched uncomfortably, allowing Peter to think about one million different ways to say 'Hi'.

"_Yes?_"

Peter was caught so off guard that the words died in his throat before he could utter them.

It wasn't aunt May who had answered.

It was his uncle Ben.

"_Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?_"

Peter had not been expecting this. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to think, staring at the intercom as if it had just come back from the dead. Maybe it did.

However, the next voice had him take a step backwards. Then another.

"_Who is it?_"

"_No idea, Pete. Probably some kids—_" Ben's voice grew more and more distant before he hung up mid-sentence.

But Peter was already far. Hearing his own voice coming from the intercom had him bolting away. He wasn't running to anywhere in particular, he wasn't thinking. He was merely putting distance between himself and the Parker family. The complete Parker family. No one was missing, not even himself. His past-self. He couldn't intrude on them, break their already short-lived happiness with his terrible knowledge and dark thoughts. He couldn't present himself to his past-self and lie to him about how bright his future was going to be. Peter had thought May would be alone, waiting for him. How stupid he had been. For all his clever thinking, he had not considered once that Ben could be alive and well. He had grown so used to be with May alone that the thought had not even brushed his mind. He felt so ashamed of himself for having forgotten his uncle. So mad at his betrayal.

Peter angrily wiped the tears off his face to no effect. They kept running.

He had no one to turn to. His friends were currently ten years old, he couldn't include his family and his past-self into the nightmare he was living and the Avengers were definitely a no go.

Peter slowed down to a stop as realization struck him so hard the world seemed to shrink around him, oppressing him to the point he felt like he could implode at any moment.

No one he loved was aware of him. No one would come looking for him, or would be worrying about him, because no one knew of his existence.

He was utterly, blatantly alone.

The universe splitting apart was ragging louder than ever in his mind.

"Hey kid, what are you doing out at this time?"

He looked up to see a policeman in a patrol care, addressing him through an open window. Peter had not realized he wasn't the only one in the street. He quickly turned his head away, but their eyes locked long enough for the police officer to notice his distress. He stepped out of his car, escorted by a colleague. Peter rubbed his sleeve on his face in a vain attempt to dry his tears.

"Is everything ok?"

The policeman crouched in front of him to get to eye level. Peter refused to look at him, lips pinched and jaw squared.

"Are you alone?"

That was it. New tears escaped with a sob he tried really hard to swallow. The policeman had unknowingly tugged at his heartstring, and Peter was at the end of his rope.

"Is this because of…?" the officer trailed off, implying very clearly the battle that ravaged New-York but a few hours ago.

"I'm sorry," was Peter's only answer. He apologized for being unable to get a grip on himself. The more he tried to keep his emotions under control, the more his façade chattered, spilling out his despair for everyone to see. His throat was so tight he struggled to even say those three words.

The police officers exchanged a look. The one crouching in front of Peter stood up.

"Come," he said, guiding him towards the car. "You can't stay here."

Peter had nowhere to go. So he obliged, relieved to have someone else decide about his immediate future for him.

.

.

.

.  
.

**Notes :**

Hi there!

First of all, thanks for reading! The first chapter was extra long, and this one definitely was a roller coaster of emotions.

However, I need to apologize about the wait. I didn't mention it here on , but I'm am very busy irl, making finding the time to write sometimes pretty difficult. The updates are going to be sporadic, and I'm very sorry about it :/ I can already tell you that you don't have to expect the next chapter to be published before the end of June.

On another note: blond Peter is totally a tribute to the amazing Spider-man: into the Spiderverse movie. But it's not there only to be there, it does have its role to play in the story.

Other than that, I want to thank Note, the co-creator of this story, for allowing me to be a part of this adventure and for her input all along the process of writing the story.  
It's going to be a long one, and I can assure you we have a lot more surprises in stock! So buckle up :3  
Note will also make a comic of the story! If you're curious about it, don't hesitate to go follow her on twitter noire00123 to be sure to not miss it once she uploads!

I also want to thank SanaTomb on AO3 for her thorough corrections. She definitely helped in making the story smoother to read!

And last but not least, I want to thank every single one of you for reading this far, and especially for your patience. Thanks for favoriting and subscribing too! Seeing that the story is appreciated means a lot. And thanks for the review too! I'll definitely consider it.

See you in June! 3


	3. It's Abbott Time! (Part 1)

**Notes :**

Remember how I said at the end of last chapter that blond Peter was a tribute to Spider-verse? Well, it was true (and it still is)… but it's not the only reason.

* * *

May 2012

"That's him," said the social worker.

She handed a file to Sarah. On it was the picture of a miserable looking blond boy, no older than 10. The information about him was scarce; the file contained only his name, the rest blank spaces, asking to be filed.

"That's all you have on him?" asked Bob, after stealing a look to the file over his wife's shoulder.

"Benjamin is brooding a lot. He doesn't speak much. It took a full day just to get his name."

Bob looked skeptical, but his wife couldn't tear her eyes away from the picture. The social worker sighed.

"Listen, I know you said you wanted to take a break, but I contacted you for the great work you've done with foster children in the past. The kid needs support and stability, and we can't provide the proper care here. It would only be temporary, until we can find his parents… or a better solution," she trailed off.

Sarah looked up at the social worker.

"What do you mean?"

"His parents might… We don't know exactly what happened to them. Benjamin was alone when he was found by the police in Queens, two days ago. We think he must have been in Manhattan with his parents during the attack, somehow got separated from them and tried to go home by himself."

A pang of sadness crossed Sarah's expression as she understood the implications. Bob wasn't insensitive either. The social worker saw an opening and pushed harder.

"You would be a great help if you accepted to foster Benjamin. Not only for us, but for him."

Sarah took her husband's hand and just like that they had agreed, without needing any further communication between each other.

"Let's meet him," he said.

The social worker walked them through a gym that served as a refugee center. The place was filled to the rim with people from all backgrounds, waiting to be assigned a temporary home until theirs was rebuilt. The place was heavily charged with emotion. There were a lot of heartwarming reunions between friends and families who finally managed to find each other after hazardous separations due to the attack, and there were just as many people mourning the loss of a home or a loved one.

At the center of all this chaos, the kid was sitting all alone on a makeshift mattress, his back to them, legs gathered up and chin resting on his knees.

"Benjamin?" called the social worker.

Nothing in his demeanor indicated that he so much as heard her.

"Benjamin Reilly?" she tried again.

This time the kid jumped. When he turned to them, Sarah was expecting to see…. She didn't know what she expected exactly. Tears, probably. But certainly not the completely blank face she was met with. It was a stark contrast with the picture of the boy she still had in hand.

Benjamin fixated his gaze on the social worker, oblivious to the couple standing just behind her.

"This is Sarah and Bob Abbott," she introduced, gesturing respectively at them. "They are going to foster you for a while."

Only then did the kid seem to notice them both. He turned a scrutinizing gaze at them, to which Sarah answered with a warm smile.

"And what if I don't want to?" he asked.

The couple exchanged a look. Not because of the content of Benjamin's words, but because his tone was completely flat, just as emotionless as his face.

The social worker looked embarrassed by his question. It was the first time he spoke as many words in a few days —that much was clear judging by the roughness of his voice—and she probably had not been expecting any kind of opposition on his part.

"So what, you prefer to wait here until someone comes for you?" she asked gently.

Benjamin shrugged, turning his eyes away.

"This is not a place for you. You will be better off with people to take care of you. It'll only be for a while anyway, until we can find your family. As soon as we find them we'll send them your way. You'll be the first to know. Is that alright with you?"

"Do I have a choice?" he asked, still refusing to look at the adults.

"It would really be better if you went with them. Staying here wouldn't be good for you," was the worker's way to softly imply that, no, he didn't have a say in this.

The boy seemed to ponder for a bit, then got up and grabbed his backpack before swooping it on his shoulder. And just like that he was ready to go.

"You sure you have everything?" asked Sarah.

Benjamin nodded. Sarah smiled once more and guided him towards their car, while Bob hung back with the social worker.

"If you manage to learn anything about him — a date of birth, a school, a phone number — please forward the information to us. Anything would help speed the process. We haven't been able to dig up anything on him so far and he's not the only child affected by the attack we have to care for."

"Yes, of course."

Bob shook hands with the social worker.

Sarah was already sitting in the back of the car next to Benjamin when Bob joined them. He sat behind the steering wheel and turned to the boy.

"So, champ', wanna go grab something to eat?"

Benjamin shook his head. He was obstinately watching the parking lot through the window.

"Sure?"

Bob looked at him expectantly, but the kid didn't answer. So Bob turned to his wife.

"Sarah — burger?"

"I'm down for it!"

"Burger it is!" Bob replied cheerfully as he turned the ignition on.

As they drove to the restaurant, they chatted casually, trying to include Benjamin in the conversation. But the kid either ignored them, or was just too lost in his thoughts to realize he was spoken to. The couple kept a jovial tone as they conversed, attempting to lighten the mood and establish a relaxed atmosphere. But the look they exchanged in the rear mirror said everything they weren't verbalizing: the state the boy was in was worrying.

"A table for three, please," asked Sarah to the waitress who welcomed them.

She guided the little group to their seats and handed a menu to each of them before scurrying away to take care of another table.

Sarah opened hers and diligently looked through it in search of her meal. Bob already knew he wanted a double cheeseburger; he only read the carte to make sure that his choice, his usual order, hadn't been replaced by a sudden craving for something new. He cast a quick glance at Benjamin, who was sitting in front of him. The boy had laid his menu down on the table without even looking at it.

"What will you take, Benjamin?" Bob asked nonchalantly, pretending he hadn't noticed.

Benjamin startled but didn't answer verbally. He just shook his head, keeping it down. Bob was concerned about the kid. He hadn't looked at them once, or uttered a single word since they met at the refugee center. Bob finally lowered his menu.

"I know things have been rough for you lately, but you gotta speak up, son," he said softly.

The boy started fidgeting. He shook his leg, played with his fingers, looked everywhere but at the adults and pinched his lips before he was eventually ready to say something.

"Er… I'm not—" he cleared his throat, "I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

Sarah folded her menu.

"You should eat something, sweetie. It's alright if you can't finish your meal, just take something you like."

The waitress was back at their table right as Sarah finished her sentence.

"Have you made your choice? What can I bring you?" she smiled, ball pen and notepad at the ready.

"A double cheeseburger and a coke for me."

"I'll take a coke too, and a chicken burger with extra sauce."

The three adults then looked expectantly at Benjamin, waiting for his answer, forcing him to open the menu and speed through it.

"Er… A small french fries. Please."

"All right!" the girl exclaimed, enthusiastically.

She finished noting the orders, tapped the end of her pen on the scratch paper to retract it and walked away with the gathered menus.

An awkward silence fell back over the table. Sarah and Bob exchanged a look, wondering how to gather information about that child without breaking him even more than he already was. They had previous experience with foster care, sure, and they had their fair share of difficult children, including traumatized ones. But every single kid was unique. A word that might comfort one could trigger a violent reaction in another. Each new child they took under their wing was a clean slate that reset everything they had learned so far about parenting. There was no golden road to healing, except time; which they couldn't afford to take too much of, for the kid's sake.

Sarah took the initiative.

"So…Is there anything you'd like to do after lunch?"

The kid shrugged once more.

"Maybe go to the zoo? What do you think about that?" she suggested tentatively.

No more answer than a bouncing leg.

"Or maybe we could go see your friends at your school? Would you like that?" added Bob.

This time the kid froze.

"Bob," whispered Sarah, "maybe we should give him a few days to adjust first."

"I know… but I thought it would do him some good to spend some time with his friends. And we could also get his parents' contact information at the same time. Two birds, one stone."

"It's very good thinking, but not… — Benjamin?"

The boy had thrown his head back against the back of the booth and was pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"Oh no, I'm sorry kid, I didn't think… We don't have to go if you don't want to," apologized Bob.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?" worried his wife.

But Benjamin didn't say anything. After staying immobile for a short while, he sighed and straightened up. When he removed his hands from his face, his eyes were surprisingly dry. He wasn't crying, contrary to what the couple believed at first.

The change in his behavior was like day and night. The kid wasn't fidgeting anymore, wasn't avoiding them. For only the second time since they met, he looked the two adults in the eye when he spoke.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier. At the center," he said with an assured voice. "It wasn't against you, but you didn't deserve it anyway. You two look like you are great people."

The couple was taken aback. Of all things that could have happened, they certainly did not expect apologies from the boy. It was like they were facing an entirely different person.

Sarah was the first to recover.

"It's ok, sweetie, you have the right to be upset. It's understandable. You don't have to apologize."

"It's not about that, it's just…" And there it was. Benjamin's confidence was slowly fading again. He averted his gaze. "I— I don't want to bother you, guys. I'm sure you have better things to do than taking care of a random kid."

This angered Bob, but he managed to keep his tone under control.

"Listen. You're here because we want you to be. No one is forcing us."

"We know you're going through some hard times," — the kid closed his eyes at that — "but we want to help you. Can you accept that?"

Benjamin thought for a while, then sighed once more.

"I guess… Thanks. Really," he smiled.

The smile didn't show any teeth, nor did it reach his eyes. But it was more emotion than he had shown up until that point, apart from discomfort, so it warmed Sarah's heart nonetheless.

"No problem. Really," she replied with a genuine smile.

"Here we go," said the waitress as a small portion of fries was laid done in front of Benjamin. She finished emptying her tray before leaving them with a cheerful, "Enjoy your meal."

The couple started eating heartily, while the boy seemed to have just enough willpower to grab his first fry, without being able to do any more. One hand supporting his head, a fry in the other, he played around with it.

"Benjamin?"

"Sorry. I'm really not hungry."

"Eat at least one. You can stop after."

Very reluctantly, Benjamin brought the fry to his mouth. Then took a second. And a third. A fourth. The whole content of his carton disappeared soon after.

"Well, that was surprisingly fast," commented Bob, who had not even finished the first half of his burger. "Want some more?"

"…Yes."

He ate two more burgers and followed that with a big ice cream. The Abbotts refused to let him pay his share when he dug out twenty dollars from his bag.

Benjamin wasn't feeling like going anywhere after lunch, so they came right back home. Sarah and Bob figured that letting the kid calmly settle down wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Here we are," said Bob as he opened the door of their upper west side apartment. He invited the kid in. "I'll show you around."

They entered a wide open space, a mix of a well furnished living room area and open kitchen. The walls were adorned with rows and rows of shelves of books, framed pictures and children's drawings everywhere a wall was window-free. An entire shelf was dedicated to a wide variety of board games, while video game consoles from different brands were displayed on the TV stand below a huge flat screen. As he walked in, Benjamin's eyes flew wide open.

"A bit more and your eyes pop right out of their sockets," scoffed Bob.

"Don't be impressed," reassured Sarah as she closed the door behind her. "This is your home for the time being, so don't hesitate to make yourself comfortable."

"You can leave your shoes here," indicated Bob as he took off his own. He walked around the living room. "We got books, comics and all the board games you'd want. Same thing for video games, but play time is restricted, so ask first." He then walked to the kitchen. "Glasses are in this cabinet; sodas are here in the fridge. If you're hungry for a snack, just ask any one of us. Although you should know that the 'no eating an hour before a meal' rule applies in this family."

All the while, Benjamin stayed immobile near the door, intimidated.

"It's alright, you can take a look around. You won't break a thing," smiled Sarah as she plugged her phone on the kitchen bar. "You come from a modest family?"

Probably too occupied with taking in the room, the kid said nothing.

"Come, I'll show you your room. Maybe we could pick some clothes that fit you better while we're at it. Looks like we could fit three of you in yours."

Benjamin bent down and unzipped his shoes before he joined Bob, who was waiting for him near a door in the corridor facing the entrance.

"And maybe he could take a shower if he wants to, I don't know if he had access to one at the center," called Sarah from the kitchen.

"What do you say kid?" Bob asked Benjamin.

The boy nodded and Bob opened the door. They entered a small room with a bare twin-sized bed against a wall. More shelves with books and toys completed the living room collection. A ray of light, partially broken by the desk located right below the window, fell onto the floor. Between the bed and the huge closet was an open, empty chest with the key on the lock.

Bob walked in, Benjamin following more hesitantly on his steps.

"This is all yours during your stay. That's your bed. You got paper and pencils in the desk if you want to draw. This chest," he said pointing at it, "is your secret space. Anything you put in there is yours only. We won't look inside it."

"Why?" asked Benjamin, suspicious.

The kid had been so quiet since they left the restaurant that Bob had almost forgotten he could speak at all.

"Why the chest?" Bob was confused.

"Why would you give me something like that?"

"Well… Everyone needs their secret space, don't they?"

The kid looked dubious. Bob crouched in front of him to get to eye level, which seemed to make him uncomfortable.

"Listen, you seem like a smart kid, so I'll be honest with you. You're far from being the first child we've fostered. And some of them had… A rough history with foster families. Turns out allowing a private space like this chest proved to them we're not looking to control them and that we're respecting them as people. Some of them had never known that before, you know… In turn, they grew to trust us, blossomed, and the teenagers that were deemed 'lost causes' are now in college," he revealed, voice swollen with pride. "All of that thanks to the help of the secret chest. So yes, we would give you something like that," he finished.

"The key," Benjamin pointed towards the chest with a movement of his head, "is it the only one?"

"Yes."

Benjamin studied him.

"Satisfied?" asked Bob after the silence had drawn out too long.

The kid seemed to relax a little and nodded.

"Good," Bob smiled, rising up and shuffling Benjamin's hair on the way.

He then turned to the closet and opened it, showcasing many boxes.

"These are clothes. You can wear anything you like, although these —" he picked up a box at Benjamin's eye level and put it at the boy's feet before opening the lid, "—should be your size. The rest of the other boxes might be too big or too small on you."

The box contained everything from underwear to street jacket. You name it, the box had it. Each item was in small quantity; but it was enough to sustain a boy's need for a few days.

"Go ahead, pick what you want," Bob invited.

Benjamin rolled up his sleeves to free his hands from the ridiculously long fabric of the oversized hoodie he was wearing and grabbed pants, a t-shirt, socks and underwear without bothering to look at them.

"Ok?" Bob asked as Benjamin straighten up, clothes held tight against him.

The boy nodded.

"Any question?"

The boy shook his head.

"Bathroom is right across your room. You'll find soap and towels pretty easily. Do you need any help to wash?"

The tip of Benjamin's ears reddened.

"Nah, I'm good."

"All right then, I'll leave you to it. Just don't lock the door. We won't come in, it's just in case of emergency."

"Ok."

"See you later, kid."

Bob left the room and joined Sarah, who was working on her laptop on the couch. He pretended to busy himself until the kid had closed the bathroom door behind him.

"What do you think?" Sarah asked as soon as they could hear the water running, her computer forgotten.

Bob leaned against the bar and crossed his arms.

"I don't know. He seems really closed off. I don't know if it's due to the trauma or if it's just him."

"Poor child. .."

Bob joined his wife, crouched in front of her and took her hand in his. His eyes locked with hers.

"Hey, it's gonna be ok. Remember little Ian?"

Sarah smiled at the name.

"He was in a worse state. He wouldn't even say a word," reminded Bob. "And look where he is now."

Their smile widened.

"And Benjamin? He looks really sharp."

"Yes, I noticed."

"I'm sure he'll get better in no time."

"I hope he will…"

Bob squeezed her hand tighter and stood up.

"Alright, I gotta go now. Office doesn't wait. Will you be ok?"

"Yes, don't worry."

Bob went to their room to change into a suit, before coming back to the living room to collect everything he needed in his briefcase.

"I'll call work to tell them I'm taking the rest of the week off," Sarah informed him as he was putting his shoes on.

Bob went back to her and gave her an affectionate kiss to the forehead.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"See you this evening!" Bob called loud enough to be heard through a loud shower, just before the door shut behind him.

Calm returned to the apartment, contrasting with Bob's last minute shuffling. Only the soothing running of the shower could be heard. Sarah went to Benjamin's room to prepare his bed. She noticed the secret chest was closed, and the key had vanished from the lock. Sarah smiled at the sight. She then got back to the living room, gave a quick call to her boss, then turned on the TV on the news channel, lowered the sound to a whisper in the background, and finally got back to work.

After twenty minutes, the shower was still flowing. Sarah got up, concerned.

"Benjamin?" She asked softly, knocking on the bathroom door.

No answer. Sarah looked behind her into the kid's room, just in case Benjamin would have gotten out of the bathroom without her realizing it. The door was wide open, offering a clear view on the empty room. She turned her attention back to the bathroom, listened closely. She could hear nothing but the water splashing on the tiling.

"Benjamin?" She asked again, louder this time, banging on the door.

But there was still no answer. Heart in her throat, she grabbed the handle.

The water stopped.

"Benjamin? Are you ok?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine. Sorry."

Sarah held back a sigh of relief and let go of the handle.

"I'm in the living room. Call if you need anything."

As the kid did not answer, she retreated to the couch. Benjamin joined her a few minutes after.

He was quite a sight; seeing him dressed in clothes his size, instead of hidden in a pile of fabric, revealed how small he truly was. He looked like a weird combination of scrawny but fit, if such a thing was even possible. He walked in hesitantly, playing with his nails, his blond locks dripping into his eyes.

"Uh… Mrs. Abbott? I overheard your conversation… I'm sorry you had to take the week off for me. You don't have to," he said, apologetic.

"Hey now, you shouldn't have to worry about that. I was due a holiday anyway." She put down her computer next to her. "So, what do you want to do? We could play a game. Take a look at the shelf and choose anything you like."

"Sure," he replied, his tone anything but assured.

Sarah followed him with her eyes as he moved through the room. He stood in front of the shelf for a while, pretending to look at the countless box of board games. Eventually, under the weight of Sarah's stare, he half turned to her.

"Uh, actually… I don't really feel like talking."

"Oh." Sarah sat up slightly straighter. "Yes. I guess you don't. We don't have to, if you don't want to. What would you like to do instead?"

Benjamin moved to the book section of the shelf.

"These ones might be too difficult for you," Sarah pointed out when she noticed the boy was looking at a shelf almost out of his reach, displaying literature too complicated for an eight-year-old looking boy.

Benjamin sighed, and settled for a Star Wars art book. He turned around, the book a massive tome in his tiny hands, in search for a place to sit. He ended up on the couch with Sarah, at the opposite end.

Since the kid was not up to talk, Sarah returned her computer to her lap. They shared the afternoon in silence — him reading, her working. However, she kept watch on Benjamin from time to time out of the corner of her eye.

She almost cursed out loud when she noticed Benjamin's attention was turned to the TV, which had been running footage of Midtown Manhattan in loop all afternoon. She grabbed the remote and was about to turn the TV off when she realized the pictures weren't causing him any distress. If anything, he finally looked interested in something. So instead, Sarah turned up the volume.

"…massive mobilization on social media under the hashtag #ThankYouAvengers. The march is scheduled to start tomorrow at 1pm on the ESU campus grounds, as the idea was first popularized by students of the university. The route is planned to go around Grand Central to finish at the foot of Stark Tower, as a thanks to Iron-Man and his allies for protecting us from an attack that put Hollywood to shame. It is rumored that Tony Stark himself could make an appearance."

Sarah got an idea.

"Benjamin? What do you think of these Avengers?"

The kid turned his attention to her.

"Would you like to go to that march?"

His own cry of terror woke Peter up. He was disoriented, tangled up in sheets in a pitch black room, his heart pounding so loudly it was all he could hear. There were walls where there shouldn't be, and nothing where there should be walls. He couldn't find the light switch. He didn't even know if there was one at all. His flailing about made him fall of the bed and all he could do was try to crawl out of the sheets he was stuck in, as Thanos was coming for Tony because he had not listened, and then for his family because he had listened but failed.

The door of the room opened violently, the light was turned on, and suddenly Peter was at the Abbots.

"Benjamin!" shouted Bob as he ran to him, Sarah on his heels, hurrying to help the clearly distressed boy out of the sheets. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Peter didn't answer. He just kept panting, kept kicking at the sheets, until he tore them and was free and could crawl away from them until his back met the opposite wall.

Sarah crouched next to him.

"Shhhhh… It's alright, it was just a dream."

She approached her hand to try to soothe him, but Peter violently pushed it back.

"I'm fine!" he angrily exclaimed.

He was not fine. He didn't know if it was just a dream; he wanted it to be and he didn't at the same time. Because if it was indeed one, if he was awake, it meant that this, right here, was the reality he was stuck in. He kept hoping it was all an illusion, a trick, anything, and that he would open his eyes in his bedroom at his Aunt, that nothing happened, not even Titan. But every night he would wake up in these unfamiliar places, surrounded by unfamiliar people, in this unfamiliar body, and every morning was new evidence that all of it was real.

"If you wanna talk about it…"

"No! No, I don't," he seethed.

He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk at all. He hated the sound of his own voice. So high pitched. So childlike. He hated how it reminded him that he was powerless. How it made him dependent to strangers. He felt so humiliated, beingtreated like a ten year old when he was actually twenty. He felt so guilty that because of his condition, innocent people were forced into the mess that was his life.

"Benjamin, we can help you. Don't push us away," Sarah implored.

Peter jumped to his feet.

"No, you can't! Nobody can help me!"

Sarah was rattled by the sudden outburst.

"Benjamin…"

Peter should never have picked this name. He chose it on a whim, mixing his Uncle's first name and his Aunt's maiden name, half present at the moment, without even realising what it meant. Without thinking that people would actually end up calling him Benjamin. Every time he heard the name, his heart broke a little more. He had managed to take it upon himself all day, but most of his self-control had left him as Thanos was threatening his loved ones in his night terror. It took all he had in him to not hit anything.

"Just leave me alone!" Peter shouted so loud his voice broke.

Bob took Sarah by the arm.

"Honey you heard him, he wants to be on his own."

"But…"

"Let him calm down first. We'll talk to him later."

They left the room and closed the door behind them.

Peter just felt so angry. So angry at himself for not being able to control his emotions. So angry that he shouted at two great people who didn't deserve the worry he was causing them. So angry that there was nothing he could do in spite of his knowledge of the future.

So angry that he was alone.

He buried his head in his pillow and shouted at the top of his lungs, until his throat was sore, and even long after that.

He didn't go back to sleep that night.

The sun had been up for maybe an hour when there was a soft knock on Peter's door.

"Benjamin?" Sarah asked.

"I'm awake." His voice was raspy.

"Breakfast is ready."

Sarah's footsteps grew fainter as she left.

Peter shifted in his bed and sighed. He wasn't looking forward to breakfast, but avoiding it any longer wouldn't solve anything. He reluctantly got up and joined the Abbotts in the living room.

They were already seated at the table and hadn't waited for him to start eating. Peter took a few steps into the room and stopped, not knowing what else to do with himself.

"Good morning, Mr Reilly," greeted Bob, focused on smearing butter on his toast. "Slept well?"

"About that… I'm sorry for last night."

Bob gave an unamused scoff, put his toast down and finally looked at Peter.

"What you did was bad. Do you understand why?"

"Yes."

Bob observed him, expecting a more elaborate answer.

"You're here to take care of me, not to be shouted at."

"That's the least you could say."

There was a small silence. Bob sighed and gestured at the chair in front of him.

"Come on, take a seat, boy. Don't just stand there."

He resumed once Peter had pulled the chair and sat on it.

"We can only imagine you lived a nightmare during the attack. But this doesn't give you the right to be violent towards us. We want to help you, but we won't accept that kind of behavior. You almost hit Sarah last night—

"Bob, it's okay," reassured Sarah. "I'm fine."

"I did not—" began Peter.

Bob cut him off.

"No it's not okay, Honey," he said to Sarah, laying his hand over hers. He turned back to Peter. "I can recognize the look you had, boy. I've seen it many times. And I won't tolerate it, not against me, and certainly not against my wife."

"No, you're right. It was wrong, I'm really sorry. I don't know what happened last night, I'm not usually like this. I swear. But…"

Peter hesitated whether or not he should say it.

"But I admit it. I did want to hit something." Bob took in a sharp breath. Peter kept going. "Everything was just too much. But, Mrs. Abbott," he turned to her and let sincerity speak, "I would never, ever, have hit you, and I never will. I promise. I'm sorry if I scared you. It won't happen again."

"It's ok sweetie, I understand," said Sarah.

"We'll let it slide this time. But we won't next time," declared Bob. "Am I clear?"

Peter nodded.

"I told you, boy, speak up."

"Yes, sir. Very clear."

"Good."

Tension left the room. Sarah invited Peter to help himself to breakfast. The couple resumed casual conversation and even tried to incite Peter to join in, but now that he had said what he had to, he reverted back to his mutism.

The march was so packed with people that Sarah insisted Peter take her hand, to avoid them getting separated. Peter had to repeat himself that it was not shameful, that he had been doing it with MJ just a few days ago. Even if the context was wildly different.

The demonstration of love for the Avengers was astounding. There were countless signs thanking them. People were wearing DIY attributes of their favorite heroes since most of them had been made public too recently to have their official merch yet. Although some looked professionally made, which was incredible considering the small time window in between the attack and now. Some people were even downright cosplaying.

It was all so cool to watch. The crowd was generally ecstatic and very emotional. Peter remembered he had felt just as amazed as the people around him were by the Avengers in the days after the attack. After all, these guys had powers and had saved the world against an alien invasion. It was even better than Star Wars.

But it was also very bitter sweet. In a few years time, those same people would be demanding for the Sokovia Accords, blaming the Avengers to be responsible for things they could not help. Peter tried not to think too much about it.

As they marched through Times Square, the billboards were broadcasting footage of the Avengers in action. Every time a chitauri got punched, whether it had been captured by a professional camera or was coming from a shaky cellphone, the crowd clamored. Adding to the fact the billboards were not in sync and displayed their own video feed each, it was needless to say this portion of the march was without a doubt the noisiest.

People were bonding over this tragedy. They chatted about how incredible it was that aliens existed, exchanged about the heroes they admired, and the people they had lost. They were sorry for Peter when Sarah told them the story she believed was his. Peter pretended he wasn't listening. Sarah assumed he was looking out for his parents.

Around Grand Central, the atmosphere changed drastically. The place had been at the epicenter of the attack, and even though the roads had been patched and reopened, traces of the fight still showed. Boards were lining the open portions of roads, covered with faces and letters to missing loved ones. The ground was so packed with flowers and lit candles that it was as if they grew straight from the asphalt.

Sarah insisted they go take a look at the boards, in case Benjamin's family had left his picture among the other missing people. Maybe they would have left a way to contact them as well.

Of course Sarah and Peter wouldn't find anything. So, as Peter pretended to look for himself, he committed to memory the faces of the lost and their story instead. Some people would hang out around the boards, showing pictures to passers by and asking if they had seen their family or friends. It was all so heartbreaking.

Peter unintentionally realized that, ten years from now, there might not be anyone left to remember the victims of the attack. The thought sent a strong shiver down his spine, and Peter immediately tried to push it away before it triggered a full on panic attack.

"Mrs. Abbott, we should go. I don't think we'll find anything here," stated Peter.

Sarah tore her eyes away from the boards to look at the boy, confused.

"What makes you say that?"

Peter wasn't in the state of mind to find a plausible excuse, and it must have shown. He had always been terrible at hiding his emotions; that's why he loved the mask. But for once, he was glad he was easily readable, as Sarah must have picked on his distress signals and walked them both away, without asking any more questions.

When they arrived at the foot of Stark tower, people were tense with anticipation. Unbelievable rumors were running through the crowd. People were saying the Avengers would show up. Tony Stark himself would make a speech. Someone even saw Captain America through a window, taking pictures of the crowd with his smartphone. Peter actually scoffed at the unlikeliness of that one. He wasn't according too much credit to the hearsay, but a part of him couldn't help but hope. He kept an eye out for the Avengers, especially Tony.

He didn't know what he would do if he saw him. What he could say. He didn't feel ready. He needed to talk to his mentor, to see his friend. And at the same time, he didn't want to, for all the reasons he had already thought about. How Tony didn't know him and wouldn't believe him. How he would look like a child to him. How Tony would already have a lot to go through on his own as it was.

But… What if? What if, today, Peter was given a chance to initiate contact? What if he was given the opportunity to repair the future?

Peter knew he would not have a full conversation with him out there, in the crowd, and especially not that conversation. But he hoped that, maybe, he could start building something with Tony today.

That idea made him so fidgety that Sarah asked him if he was ok.

He wasn't ready.

Peter was the first to look up when a familiar repulsor sound resonated through the air. Quickly enough, everybody else imitated him.

Iron Man had shown up in all his glory.

The crowd exploded. Various "Bravo, Iron Man!"s and "I love you Tony Stark!"s erupted from all around Peter. Tony hovered over them, saluting, showing off. But never once looking over at Peter.

He was there, a few feet above him.

Completely unreachable.

Peter, heart heavy, watched as his friend flew away, going up the current of incoming people, offering them a glance at the hero they had come to see.

Peter jolted awake; it seemed like it was the only way he could emerge from sleep these days.

Good thing was, this time he managed to hold back his scream; but it was a close call. The nightmare had felt just as real as it had the previous night. And the one before. And the one before the one before.

Thanos, staring right down at his soul, ransacked every corner of his mind, gathering information on May and his friends, anticipating to go after them when he was finished with Tony. Peter didn't even know how his mind had made the link between Thanos and his loved ones. The titan had never set his eyes on them, even less mentioned them.

He was dead. The Thanos from 2022 had killed himself in his folly.

And the version from 2012 had never met Peter, even less heard of him. He was most likely billions of light years away and couldn't care less about a guy from Queens.

Yet, every night Thanos would strain Peter's sanity to the limit with the mind stone, while he was, slowly, but surely, digging his hand into Tony's gut.

While Peter was chained to the ground, unable to move.

Unable to act.

Peter couldn't stand it any longer. He needed to do something, or he would go insane. Still panting from his chaotic awakening, he frantically threw his blanket off of himself, jumped out of the bed, drew the chest key and pulled out his suit.

At the sight of it, however, Peter snapped back into reality. He couldn't wear it. It was too much of a mess; and that was without accounting for its size.

It wouldn't stop Peter. He dropped the relic and turned to the closet. He pulled out box after box, always careful to keep the volume down, until he found a dark hoodie, sweat pants and gloves. There were no shoes with the sole thin enough to allow his feet to stick. He settled for dark socks.

He then snatched his mask, tied it around the lower half of his face and pulled his hood up. He didn't bother with the oversized web-shooters. He would have to do without them.

Peter opened the window and climbed out into the night.

The fresh air immediately helped him feel better. Sneaking out when he was supposed to be asleep, with the intention of stopping a few muggings… He was back in his element. He paused there for a minute, taking in the sounds of people and circulation down billow, enjoying the dizzying sensation of hanging forty-two feet above the ground, feeling the wind ripple his cloths.

Peter took in a deep breath and started running horizontally along the wall. There would be no swinging tonight. He ran until he reached the corner of the building and leapt. Limbs flailing, a loud, "Whooohooooo!" escaped him. He jumped building after building in that manner, putting more and more distance between him and the nightmare that plagued his dreams. Running this way cleared his mind as it required focus, made him feel better. For the first time since he woke up in that damned alley, he finally felt like himself. He ran, leaped, squeezed in between walls and fire escape ladders, got to the top of buildings, dropped onto the ones way below, wedged himself in between the metal support bars of rooftops advertising boards. He released a part of the frustration accumulated in the last few days in this mad, frantic race.

It felt good.

At long last, Peter's spider-sense tingled and loud voices reached his ears. He turned his attention towards their origin and ended his run against a wall in a secluded, dimly lit alley. Breaths coming in short, he took a quick break to assess the situation.

Three muggers, two males, one female. Two guns. One knife. A couple, the woman in front of her man in a protective manner, holding up a pepper spray.

'Nice thinking,' thought Peter, 'but unless she's got some moves, it won't be enough.'

Peter silently crawled down the wall.

"Hey guys," he called when he was only ten feet off the ground, "why don't you face someone twice smaller than you instead of people your own size?"

The muggers jumped and turned to Peter. They saw him long enough to register his position on the wall before Peter made a flip and landed gracefully.

"I'm sure it'd look good on your resume."

The muggers took a step backwards.

"Yo kid, what the fuck? You're creepy."

"Yeah, I know. I get told that a lot."

Peter took a step forward.

"Alright guys, I'll give you one chance to leave that nice couple alone and surrender to the police."

The three muggers looked between each other and cracked up.

"Or what ya gonna do?" asked one of them. "Ya gonna go tell your momma?"

Peter had been told this exact line so many times when he first started out that it became sort of a running gag at this point. He shook his head, disappointed.

"You guys never change. Couldn't you, like, for once, surprise me and do as I ask?"

"Wait, is he serious?" the female mugger wondered, amazed at the kid's audacity.

The crook in the middle toughened up and took a step forward, pointing his gun at Peter. He didn't bulge.

"Listen, kiddo. I'll be the one giving you one chance to get the hell out of here or I blast you. Don't play the hero."

From the corner of his eye, Peter noticed his distraction had allowed the couple to retreat far enough from their assailants. Time to act.

"I don't play," he said ominously.

In a swift movement, Peter reached for the guy's arm… and missed it.

Peter was unsettled. He had done the move to disarm people countless times. It was drilled and screwed deep into his mind at this point. He shouldn't have failed it.

The miss, however gave a head start to the mugger, who was allowed extra time to pull the trigger in an ear splitting 'blam'. Peter only narrowly avoided the bullet thanks to his spider-sense. He flipped over the guy and landed behind him. He didn't lose a second to kick him in the knees, sending the guy over on his four.

"You, son of a—" he was interrupted by his own cry of pain as Peter clumsily but purposefully stepped on his hand, forcing him to release the gun. No webbing to stick the gun to the ground— or the crook for that matter. So Peter made a turn on himself and aimed a kick at the guy's head instead. His heel didn't quite land where he wanted it to, but it was still strong enough to render to guy unconscious.

Peter bent over and had just grabbed the gun when he was caught into a chokehold from the rear, forearm crushing his windpipe. The guy was good, his arms firmly locked in place. Peter tried to hit him to release his hold, but couldn't reach any of the strategic spots he usually did when stuck in that kind of situation. He was able to at least slip his free hand in between him and the guy's arm, managing to push it just enough to avoid choking completely.

His strength seemed to surprise his attacker, who, despite his hold, was struggling with the frantic kid.

"How do you…" he started.

"Hey dude, they're running away!" called the woman.

She was the one with the last gun.

Peter acted on instinct. He stuck his feet to the ground and forced to other guy to turn with him towards her. She had the weapon pointed at the couple's back. Without losing a second, Peter aimed at her head, and threw the gun he was still holding. She dropped to the ground.

"Oh no you don't," grunted the guy, releasing his hold on Peter to stab him with the knife.

Peter, alerted by his spider-sense, powerfully jumped backwards, causing the man to lose his balance and release him as they both fell. The guy landed with a "Oof" and the knife went flying. Peter rolled away from him, finally able to breathe properly.

And then he noticed. One of the guns was at reaching distance from the man, who, following Peter's look, saw it too. He started to make a move towards it. Peter threw his hand in front of himself out of reflex, two fingers folded into his palm, with the intention of snatching the gun first.

"Oh shoot!" he cursed, remembering the lack of web-shooters.

Peter got back up, half running, half tripping over his feet and almost threw himself over the man, whose extended hand was a few inches away from the weapon. Peter grabbed the guy by the hoodie and dragged him backwards over the asphalt.

"Nuh uh, guns are dangerous, you shouldn't play with those!"

"Oh shut up!"

He rolled over and kicked Peter in the chest, emptying his lungs in one lucky, well placed hit. Peter involuntarily bent over, and when he looked back up, the crook was right in front of him, gun pointed at him. He shoved Peter on the shoulder, who not only failed to avoid it, but lost his footing as he tried to and fell backwards, against the wall of a building boarding the alley. Before he could recover, the man had grabbed a handful of his hair through his hood and proceeded to repetitively slam his head against the bricks. Dizzy, held at gunpoint, Peter's spider-sense was screaming at him.

"Not so wise anymore, huh? I don't do children usually, but I think you need to be taught a lesson," the crook spat in his face, his breath putrid.

Peter should have been able to do something without hesitating. He had been threatened similarly over and over for the last seven-ish years. But without his webs, and with his unsettling gawkiness, he was not so confident. One wrong move, and the bullet was in him. The gun was too close, he wouldn't have time to dodge it.

But if he did nothing, the bullet would definitely come for him anyway. He could feel it.

Peter decided to try and risk it all by swiping his legs at the crook's in an attempt to make him fall once more. At the same time, a loud 'whack' resonated. The man collapsed like a rag doll, unconscious, revealing behind him the woman from the couple, a rusty metal rod in her hands. She dropped the makeshift weapon and gave one, strong kick at the man.

Well, turned out the lady did have some moves, apparently.

"Asshole," she insulted, before she spat on him.

"You should stop mugging. Looks like you've set the bar too high for you. It got to your head," Peter quipped at the man, even though he knew he couldn't hear him.

The woman turned to him and held up her hand. Peter gratefully used her help to get up. As soon as he was on his feet, however, she rounded on him.

"What is wrong with you?! You could have gotten killed!" she screamed.

"You're welcome. It was a pleasure helping you," wittily replied Peter, taken aback by the woman's change of target.

"I was handling it!"

"You were outnumbered," he retorted.

"What, so you weren't?"

"That's different."

"Don't be arrogant. It's definitely not. It's even worse. How's your head?"

"Fine. You shouldn't worry about me. How about you? Are you ok?" asked Peter, genuine.

The woman pinched her nose and sighed, her eyes clenched. She was clearly annoyed at him.

"Well, I'm not the one who got rolled over by three guys."

"I did not—"

"You shouldn't try to play hero, it's very dangerous. You could have been hurt, you got really lucky. Hell, you shouldn't even be out at this time." She said, shaking her head, before extending her hand. "Come, we'll take you home."

Peter was getting really tired of being talked down to. He had never donned the Spider-man suit to get 'thanks', but he hadn't miss the 'you're too young to be doing that' part one bit.

He leaped into the air, well above the lady's head and stuck to the wall, out of her reach. She gasped, surprised by the unexpected acrobatics.

"That won't be necessary," refused Peter. "You should call the police before they wake up, by the way," he added with a nod towards the three unconscious crooks before starting to crawl upwards, out of the light range.

As he reached the top of the building, a faint, bemused, "Did you see that?" echoed up the alley.

Peter sat down on the rooftop and cursed under his breath. What should have been a quick take-down of three guys turned out to be more challenging than he was used to.

And Peter didn't like it one bit.

But at the same time, Peter felt like a weight had been lifted off of him. A small smile crept over his face.

He wasn't any step closer to preventing the end of the world, but at least he had prevented the end of someone's world tonight. And that was as good a start as any other.

* * *

**Notes :**

So... Ben Reilly. That name rings a bell to most comics nerds ;) For those of you who are more into the MCU side of things, Peter has had many clones, one of them being named Ben Reilly.  
In my fic, Peter is not a clone: he's definitely a futur version of 2012 Peter. However, this is 100% my take on the character.

I'm so sorry for the delay T.T Apparently I'm a waaaay slower writer than I thought — and this chapter turned out to be even longer than I expected.  
To tell you the truth, chapter 3 was going to be longer than both chapter 1 and 2; which was becoming ridiculous at this point. So I decided to split the chapter in two and not have you wait any longer.  
Part 2 will arrive as soon as I finish it! But since I'm apparently terrible at respecting my deadlines, I prefer not giving any so that nobody is disappointed.

Once more I thank dearly Noiter for her feedback, and SanaTomb for giving time out of her day to beta this chapter, you're the best guys 3

And also, a big thanks for that second, review, I'll even more keep that in mind x)


	4. It's Abbott Time! (Part 2)

**May 2012**

Shuffling around him woke Peter up. He had dozed off on the couch, a book open on his lap.

"Rough night?" Sarah asked as Peter rubbed his eyes.

Peter nodded.

"You had nightmares again?"

Peter didn't answer.

Sarah didn't insist, but she worried. It was the kid's third day with them, and he still refused to talk unless absolutely necessary. He was so closed off that there was no learning what troubled him. Just getting to know what he wanted for dinner was almost impossible. And even then, it seemed like he only gave random answers just to please her.

She wished he would give them his trust, so that they could start healing him.

The kid wasn't even difficult; in fact, he was very compliant and did everything he was asked to do.

Maybe all he needed was a little push?

Sarah got up from the couch and clapped her hands, drawing Peter's attention.

"All right, let's play a game. Is there anything you'd like to play?"

To Sarah's expectation, the boy shrugged. She walked to the shelf and took out the Uno card game, showing it to Peter, who just looked at it and then back at Sarah.

"Come on," Sarah prompted. "You've been sitting there all day. I'd take you outside, but…"

The splitch splotch of rain splattering the windows was self explanatory.

When the boy stood up from the couch, Sarah considered it a small victory. She took them both to the dining table.

"Do you know the rules?" She asked as she distributed the cards.

Peter nodded, and the game started. They played in silence for a few rounds.

"So, Benjamin… I'm sure a healthy boy like you must practice some sport."

Peter looked up at her, and then back at his cards.

"What do you do? Maybe Bob and I could take you this week-end. I'm sure you must miss it."

To Peter, it became clear she wouldn't take no for an answer.

"I uh… I just run around."

"Like jogging? Or more like sprinting? Are you in a club?"

"Jogging. I just jog. Not in a club or anything."

"Well then… Maybe we could go have a round in Central Park. I haven't run in a while, but I'm sure it'd do me some good. What do you say?"

"Uh…Sure, why not." Peter replied, hesitant.

Silence fell back over the table.

"Benjamin, can I ask you a question?"

Peter tensed at the heaviness of Sarah's voice.

"You haven't mentioned your family nor your friends one single time since you joined us."

It was a statement, not a question. Sarah paused, waiting to see if the kid would pick up on it.

"I'm starting to worry about you. There's only one reason I can think of as to why you wouldn't," Sarah said carefully.

Peter frowned. This was the very conversation he had hoped to avoid. He had thought a lot about the answer he would give to the question Sarah was about to ask. But he had none that would live through the lie in the long run. A badly handled answer would get people to dig into Benjamin Reilly's own non-existent past. And when they would find nothing, eyebrows would be raised. So there would be more digging. But he was literally no one; no papers, no official identity, no birth certificate to be found to distinguish him form the Peter Parker of this era. None that wouldn't expose his family and drag them into the craziness that was now his life.

"Benjamin, what happened that day?"

All he could do was stall until he came up with something. Keep the silence card going.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

So he did.

"I know you don't. But I'm sure it could help you—"

"Please. I'm not ready."

Sarah looked at him, pained.

"If you don't allow yourself to trust us, I don't think you'll ever be ready."

Peter was stunned. Was he that bad at keeping for himself, or was she just a very good reader?

"I'm sorry Mrs Abbott—"

"Call me Sarah."

"… Sarah. You're being very nice and I'm really grateful. But —please, don't take it badly— I barely know you."

"You're right," Sarah acknowledge.

She put her cards down and buried her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Peter apologized, starting to slightly panic at the idea he might have hurt her.

"No. No, you're right."

Sarah stood still for a short moment, leaving an awkward Peter unsure about what to do. Finally she picked up her cards and resumed playing, adding a card to the pile, undisturbed.

"The day I learned I couldn't have children, Bob and I were devastated."

Peter, dumbstruck by the sudden openness, forgot it was his turn until Sarah invited him to keep playing with a gesture of her hand, never stopping in her story.

"We had been trying for two years, you know… The doctor told us about adoption. But it wasn't the same. I wanted my own child, not someone else's. The doctor told us we could adopt from birth, from a mother who didn't want to keep the child, and it would be almost the same. We would keep tabs with the mom, follow the pregnancy evolution, and it would be our baby in the end. But the doctor also insisted we visit an orphanage first, saying there were plenty of older children who were also in need of parents. I wanted a baby, not a grown up, but Bob seemed on board with the idea. So we went. I didn't believe I'd find my child in there.

"Until I fell in love."

Sarah indicated a picture on the wall behind Peter, showing the Abbotts and a young brunette girl, radiating happiness.

"Her name is Laura. She was twelve at the time. She had been in the system since birth and had never been able to settle with a family. But she was so full of love, and so ready to give it. She stayed with us until she graduated high-school. She is now married and gave birth to her second child two years ago.

"You'd think that after we saw a child to college, we'd be happy. But we were addicted by then. We fostered Lucas, Amelia and Mason, each for a few months only."

Sarah once again pointed at the pictures behind Peter, showing each child and teenager as she said their name, her voice full of affection.

"They were either transitioning from one family to the next, or needed a place to stay while their family solved their own problems before they could take them back in."

"Then we had little Ian. He was supposed to stay only for a few months too, just like the others. But he'd seen ugly things in his home, and even uglier things happened back there when he was with us, so he ended up staying. You know, we were really concerned about him. What happened to him made him very difficult to get through. He talked even less than you do, if that can give you a rough idea," Sarah indicated, teasingly. "But with love and compassion, he started to open up."

A warm smile spread across her face.

"If you'd see him now, you would hardly believe he was that shy and quiet child. He became quite the extroverted young man, with so many friends it was hard to keep up," she chuckled. "But he was also very hard working and his dedication won him a full scholarship to Cornell."

Sarah was the epitome of pride, until she remembered Peter's youth.

"Cornell is a university," she clarified.

"I know. I've heard about it."

"You have? Well, that's good. At your age, I barely knew what a university is," Sarah laughed, before resuming her story.

"After Ian left us, I finally got to see my dream of having a baby fulfilled. Small Finn was two years old and he stayed with us for a whole of nine months. And let me tell you, grown up children don't prepare you for the full-time job that taking care of a toddler is," she laughed wholeheartedly.

"When his relatives finally came to take custody of him, it was really hard to say goodbye. But it was for the best. Last time we heard of him he wasn't doing so good at school, but he seemed to be a happy little boy and that's the best we could wish for.

"Then we got Harper." Sarah's tone had become slightly somber. "Harper was… something else. She was fifteen and had an impressive record for her young age. We chose to give her a chance and we were so glad she took it. Although there was nothing really surprising in that choice, since it was us or juvie.

"She was not easy to work with. Very stubborn. But we knew there was hope for her as under the protective shell gave herself, there was a very caring young lady. She truly blossomed under our care. She was given the opportunity to start over a new life and she made something great out of it. She was smart and worked really hard to catch back on school.

"She…uh… She left us almost a year ago."

All the while Sarah talked about Harper, her tone was as full of love as it was for the other children. But there was something else… a small quiver. Sarah took a breath that she willed not shaky and recomposed herself.

"And now we have you. And I'm very much looking forward to the story we will build together."

Peter was at a loss for words. If anything, he had not expected to get the full history of the Abbott family. The amount of love Sarah could give to children that were not her own was astounding. It touched Peter in a way he had not anticipated, struck him to the core.

It reminded him of his Aunt May. How it seemed to have never once crossed her mind to give up custody of him when his Uncle Ben died, even though they were not blood related. It just seemed natural that she would keep taking care of him.

He suddenly missed her more than he had in the last few days. He had buried his emotions deep inside to try to stay sane. But the parallel Peter had unconsciously made between Sarah and May brought it all back in a pang.

"Uh, thanks," he replied, disturbed. "Can I?"

Peter pointed at the wall behind him, and all the pictures and drawings displayed on it. Sarah nodded.

"Sure, go ahead."

Peter jumped on his feet and got to the wall, admiring it like he was in a museum. It was the perfect excuse to turn away from Sarah and give himself some time to calm down.

He looked at every picture, every piece of art on the wall, focusing on what he had in front of his eyes instead of what was on his mind.

"We keep everything," explained Sarah. "It's all we have after they're gone. That, and the memories."

They had pictures of every single child they ever cared for. College graduations, family outings… The Abbotts seemed so at ease with the kids that an outsider would have had a hard time guessing they weren't related to them.

Peter's heart swelled for this nice couple and all the good they were doing. They might not have powers, but they were real heroes.

As his aunt would say: "Save one person, and you save everybody". It was because of people like them that less adults ended up committing crimes in the street that Peter would later have to stop.

"Thanks for everything you're doing. I mean it."

However, weighting against this gratitude was the guilt of the lie he told them. It was growing bigger day after day, nice word after nice touch. And this conversation was the compost to his guilt plant. But what could he do but maintain the lie? So he buried the guilt, just like he buried his feelings on everything he was missing.

Sarah seemed surprised by his words.

"We don't do it for the thanks, but I'm glad you feel that way."

Peter, having gotten a grip on himself, turned back to Sarah.

"Whose turn was it to play again?"

"It was yours I believe."

Peter joined back the table picked up his cards and played one. Sarah answered with a +4 card.

"Yellow," she said as Peter drew cards from the stack.

She then laid down a yellow reverse, called "Uno" and got rid of her last card.

Peter and his pile of cards looked at her, flabbergasted.

"What? I might love all of my children, but that doesn't mean I let them win at games."

"I call for a rematch," he appealed in a mock-offense tone.

* * *

When Peter woke up that night, it was not because of the night terror. Surprisingly, for the first time since he landed in 2012, nightmares didn't bother his sleep at all. Peter opened his eyes with purpose, knowing full well it was time for him to go for a little walk outside.

He'd spent the day giving a great deal of thought as to why he struggled so much against the crooks the previous night.

He identified two reasons: the first one was the height difference between his regular body and the one he was stuck in. He was used to longer arms and legs and had had years of practice with those. Take away a few inches and what movements should have been instinct ended up being treacherous if he didn't pay attention. It was similar to when he had a sudden growth spurt at the age of thirteen and was clumsier than usual for a while. There was no quick fix to this; he'd have to train until his brain got used to his current height.

The second reason, however, was the lack of web-shooters; and that was something he could change. The wristbands might have been too big on him for the time being, but with the proper tools he could reduce their size to fit him.

The only problem was that the Abbotts probably didn't have those tools. And even if they did, there was no way Peter could work on his web-shooters here.

The only place he knew he could sneak into to properly modify his tech was all the way back in Queens, in Midtown High's workshop.

Peter opened the chest, changed into his makeshift suit and tied up his mask. He then picked up his web-shooters, turning them in his hands, hesitant.

Midtown High was a long way away. Peter briefly considered the ESU labs, and dismissed the idea as quickly. Not only was the security there much higher than it was in his previous high-school, but there would most likely be people working at this time anyway. Clocks were a foreign concept to researchers.

Peter sighed; he would have to swing all the way to Queens, since public transportation was a no no. Peter had no idea what time it was, but even if the subway and buses were still circulating, there was no way a ten year old could use them unbothered so late at night. So he slipped the web-shooter on his wrist.

The thing, of course, was sagging. One push on the web-release button and the pressure would send the device reeling up his arm.

Really, the only way he could make this work was if he swung all the way there one-handed, using his other hand to hold the web-shooter in place.

Welp, that was going to be a fun ride. Not awkward at all.

Peter arrived at his destination half an hour later, glad that it was over, but exhilarated all the same. Despite the constraints of his trip, he had missed swinging around the city. In regular circumstances he would have complained a lot, but the shred of normalcy swinging gave him... the freedom he felt after spending days locked up in his lies rendered the struggle inconsequential.

Peter snuck into a vent and made his way to the workshop. All the while he stayed hyper aware of his surroundings, making sure the security wasn't any different than the one he was used to. He was relieved to find out it wasn't, and he navigated in between the security cameras without any trouble.

Getting into the workshop, Peter didn't lose a second. He fetched the tools and immediately got to work. As it was a no brainer; his mind wandered while his hands labored.

He thought about his Spider-man persona, and what he would do with it. In 2012, nobody knew about him yet. He had a chance to start over, avoid the mistakes he did when he first began. Maybe he could even change his name? The Scarlet-Spider. That was a dope name. Although he did intend to keep his red and blue suit. So that would make him.. the Cobalt-Scarlet-Spider? Wait, wouldn't that make him the Violet-Spider? Peter cringed as he tried to erase from his mind the image of himself in a purple spidery suit.

In any case, with the 'suit' he was sporting right now, there were more chance he would be called Spider-Punk, because half-masks and hoods sure incited to trust. In the end, the Spider-Man name was not such a bad idea, after all.

Although, as things were, it was more Spider-Boy than anything else.

This gave Peter a pause.

He couldn't go public about Spider-Man. The only thing people would see was his apparent age. He couldn't say the truth about it, as it would either create havoc, or, most likely, people would simply not believe him. They would just try to stop him. That's what he himself would do if he met a ten year old playing vigilante.

…Would that bring Tony's attention on him?

It could. But not necessarily. And it would also definitely bring a lot of other people's attention, and not only good ones, as they would see his age as an opportunity to mold him to fit their own personal agendas. Of course Peter would be able to discern between good and bad guys, but they wouldn't know that and he had no time to waste with those creepy profiteer.

And was that really the kind of attention he wanted from Tony? The adult protecting the child? He'd been through that already. His experience taught him that as long as Tony didn't perceive him as an equal, he wouldn't listen to his warnings. If Tony believed he was the ten year old he appeared to be, he wouldn't believe his story. And Peter needed to get his point across.

No, it was too early to go public yet. Peter literally couldn't see any positive aspects about it. But he couldn't stop being Spider-Man all together. After all, he had been sent back to 2012 with his powers, when his own past-self wouldn't get his own before four other years. It must have been for a reason, right? He couldn't stop using them to help people. With great power, there must also come great responsibility.

He'd stick to the shadows then. Act in the dark.

That was one problem solved. But that didn't answer the question about what to do with Tony.

Peter sighed. This whole problem was a real headache he had no solution for.

He slipped a first web-shooter on. It finally felt at home on his wrist. He tested it, making sure it worked perfectly, until the cartridge was empty.

Peter figured that, since he was already there, he could as well go make a new batch of web-fluid once he was finished on his second web-shooter.

On his way back to the Abbotts, Peter felt more alive than ever. With two working web-shooters, he could enjoy swinging to the fullest. He flipped and vaulted and dived to only catch himself at the last second. Scratch that first trip to the school; this was what freedom really tasted like.

* * *

They were eating dinner in silence. Usually the Abbotts were really chatty, but not that night. Peter could feel something was brewing and that made him wary.

Finally, Bob broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Benjamin, we need to talk."

Peter tensed. He didn't like the seriousness that took over the usual light-heartedness in Bob's tone. Had they noticed his nightly promenades?

"CPS called today."

Oh. So that was what it was about. Peter honestly didn't know if he would have preferred them talking about his sneaking out after all.

"They haven't found anything about your parents yet."

"Oh," was all Peter could say.

"That means nobody came asking for you. I'm sorry, kid."

This information obviously did not surprise Peter, but he couldn't tell the Abbotts.

"Oh ok."

Damn. He was really bad at handling this. He hadn't have had to lie to any of his closed ones for years regarding his double life; he really lost the hang of it.

Luckily for him, Sarah seemed to interpret it as a 'I'm really sad but I want to maintain appearances' kind of "Oh ok".

"They could still be alive though, in hospital."

"Sarah, you shouldn't give him too much hope," Bob reprimanded her. "Kid, we'll be honest with you. If your parents didn't come for you and they're still alive, it's likely they are in bad shape at the hospital."

Bob marked a pause.

"But you should also consider the possibility that they could be dead," he added, apologetic.

Bob was referring to fictional parents, but Peter couldn't help but picture his Uncle Ben, or, more confusingly, Tony. Their death had both marked him; but they were alive now, weren't they? They were dead in the future —or Peter's past?—, but in the present they breathed just as well as he did. He should have felt happy about it. He was, actually. So why were Bob's words impacting him so much? Peter wanted to pass for the kid with the history the Abbotts believed him to have, but he didn't know how to play the part while his emotions were so conflicting.

His internal turmoil must have shown as Sarah picked up on his silence.

"You already know that, don't you?"

Peter closed his eyes as he realized he missed his cue. He messed this one up. If the Abbotts were suspicious he wasn't telling them something, now they must be almost certain of it.

"Benjamin talk to us. We can help you. We want to help you," begged Sarah.

"We know almost nothing about you and neither does CPS. With a bit more information about you they could pinpoint their research and speed up the process to find out what happen to them."

They were asking for him to tell them more lies he was not willing to spin. Everyday that went by was adding a new layer of stress upon him as he started to care more and more for the Abbotts. They didn't deserve to be kept from the truth. But they deserved even less to be dragged into it.

So he said nothing.

"We gave you a few days to adjust and recover, but now you gotta speak to us." Bob was losing patience.

"Bob," Sarah rebuked before turning back to Peter, her voice soft, tentative, marking a pause between each question to allow for Peter to answer them. "Anything would help. Why don't you tell us your parents name and address? Do you know it? Or your birthday? Or maybe where you go to school?"

Peter kept his mouth shut, refusing to look at them, the weight of the shame growing bigger and bigger with every question they asked.

"Kid, we took you in willingly, yet we don't even know how old you are. We're here for you, you can trust us. You can't keep everything for yourself, or you're gonna snap," insisted Bob.

"There's nothing to say," Peter replied to get them to stop pressing, before cringing internally. Way to go to get them off his tracks.

However, his answer did have the intended effect; the couple marked a pause. Peter observed them discreetly, surprised. Something passed between them as they looked at each other. Was it resignation? Mutual support?

But then Sarah turned to Peter once more. The emotions he could read in her eyes… He knew he had unintentionally lead her to conclusions he would have preferred she never reach.

"Benjamin… I'm starting to think you don't want to go back with your parents. There's more to the story than just the attack on New-York, isn't it?"

Peter shook his head.

"Are they treating you badly?'

He didn't need them to start imagining he was abused by non existent parents. This would just bring CPS down harder on him.

"What? No. It's not like that."

"Then why won't you talk? We need to understand!"

"Because!…" Peter stopped. What could he say? He was usually so good at quipping at villains when under pressure, so why did he feel so exposed with the Abbotts? He just needed them to stop. "Because it's none of your business."

The Abbotts looked hurt by his unexpected answer. But now he was launched and he couldn't stop; he poured all of his frustration onto them, raising his voice.

"Why don't you just leave me alone? I never asked for your help. You're here trying to fix me but you know what? You can't! You can't understand what I've been through and there's nothing you can do to help me so just give up already!"

Peter was regretting the words as they spilled uncontrollably out of his mouth. He was disgusted by himself, because he knew full well they didn't deserve it. But it would be better for them if they just gave up on him altogether.

The look they gave him… Peter would have slapped himself.

Before they got the chance to answer, Peter stood up and got to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Peter let himself slide against the door and took his head in his hands. He was breathing hard, trying to tame the guilt gnawing at his gut. Trying to tell himself that his outburst was for the best. The Abbotts would send him back to the center.

He wouldn't have to lie anymore.

He would be free to focus as much as he wanted on the problem at hand, without having to pretend all day long he was someone he was not.

He should never have agreed to follow the Abbotts.

No, scratch that; he should have fled from the center while he still had the chance, instead of moping around and whining about his fate. Be productive, instead of watching the clock, waiting for it to start ticking in reverse to take back the last few days, revealing the whole thing to be a nifty trick played on his mind. If he had left, only CPS would have been looking for him; no one involved enough to focus too much on a boy's disappearance.

Peter clenched his eyes shut, holding back a moan.

No one would have known about him if he had not allowed those police officers to take him in the first place. What was he thinking? He should have run away as soon as he saw them. From the moment he got to the center, he was done; CPS had his face and they would come looking for him, no matter their degree of involvement. Now that there were people who knew about him, he was bound to have to lie and hide.

He had to leave.

"…have no idea how to handle him," Sarah's whispered words reached Peter through the door. "Every time I think I managed to make some progress with him, it backfires."

"He just needs more time. Be patient."

"But we don't have time anymore. It's the week-end already and I have to get back to work on Monday."

"I'll take the next week off."

"Bob…"

"It's necessary."

"I know… But what if next week is still not enough? What if he still doesn't open up? Or if his parents don't come for him? We can't keep taking weeks off. And I don't see him getting back to school in his state. He hardly sleeps at night—"

"You're thinking too much. We'll wait and see, and do what we have to for him. We won't let him down."

They let a small silence settle between themselves.

"I think he needs to see a therapist."

"What?"

"You saw him. He's so quiet until he has those mood swings. Every time we try to dig a little… He needs help. What he saw that day… The poor kid is traumatized."

"And you want to force him to relive that?"

"Bob—"

"No, he just needs time to process. He'll open up when he's ready."

"I don't get it. It helped Ian so much yet you'd deny it for Benjamin?"

"Ian was different. He wouldn't even speak."

"So does he!"

"He has his wit about him. He answers questions."

"Not the ones that matter!"

"Sarah, the kid looks way better than Ian did."

"I don't even understand how you could say that. Clearly you haven't seen him catching up on sleep on the couch every morning."

"Sarah, I agree with you that Benjamin is not ok. I won't deny that. But I don't think a therapist is the answer. Right now the people who could truly help him are his parents and I doubt a therapist could tell us where they are." Bob lowered his voice even more, to make sure that Benjamin wouldn't over hear them. "If they're dead and the kid saw it, he'll just have lived that memory again, for nothing. We don't need him to be traumatized a second time."

"But that's exactly what therapy is for! To relieve trauma!"

Peter had heard enough.

To add to his already incredibly high pile of guilt, the Abbotts were now fighting over him.

He had to leave.

But if he did, the Abbotts would be worried sick. They seemed to genuinely care about him.

He had to leave, so that he wouldn't cause them anymore trouble.

But wouldn't he cause even more if he did?

The walls around him suddenly seemed too tight. Peter had no space to think. No space to let his thoughts unfurl.

So he jumped into his makeshift suit and webbed the door shut just in case. Seconds later, the room was left empty, window wide open.

* * *

Peter thought that taking a night stroll would calm him down, but it didn't. His mood was swinging with every twhip of his webs — his mind raging, stuck in a dilemma.

He knew he needed to get to Tony as soon as possible.

He knew the world — and more — were at stake.

He knew he couldn't devote all of his time to the Thanos problem as long he was stuck with the Abbotts.

He knew it would be even more difficult if they sent him back to school. That simple thought made him shudder, as he imagined himself having to do his school curriculum all over again.

So why couldn't Peter bring himself to leave when it was so obvious it was the best thing he could do? Why did that couple matter so much to him?

That night Peter encountered a robbery. He had his web-shooters, and he sure was aware of his size problem; but his mind wasn't in the moment.

He accomplished the job — after all, this was a classic theft with classic thieves — but not without taking a few ill placed hits first.

If his right eye didn't bruise, he was sure his split lip would be harder to hide. And that was without accounting for the multitude of glass cuts all over his body, including the one on his forehead, dripping blood into his eye.

That was it then; this was all Peter needed to make his decision.

* * *

When Peter got back to the Abbotts' building hours after dinner, he knew he had messed up.

The window he had left open was now shut closed.

A new pang of guilt hit him as he landed softly next to it. The Abbotts knew he had slipped out. Peter forced himself to divert his thoughts from imagining how they must have felt. His mind was made, and he wouldn't bulge from his resolution.

He tested the window, knowing full well it was locked. He stuck his fingers to the frame and silently forced the mechanism. He waited for a bit after the 'click', alert, then rolled the window up when nobody came. Peter crawled inside and softly dropped to the ground. The room was dark, lit only by the street lights several feet below.

Peter removed his half mask and stuffed it in his pocket. All he needed was his backpack with his useless suit and phone.

And maybe a few clothes.

Peter headed to the closet first. The door creaked slightly when he opened it. Peter listened carefully for any sign of life.

There was none.

So he went back to his task, fishing blindly inside the box he remembered was his size. He threw his catch on the bed, the items each landing with a little 'thump' of their own.

Satisfied, Peter closed the door. It creaked again. Wary, Peter stopped, listening intently again.

No alarm had been raised.

Peter decided it would be safer to leave the door half open. He turned to the chest, unintentionally hitting his hand against the door.

Thud.

Light erupted from the below the door.

"Benjamin?" Sarah's voice chimed in, pitch higher than usual.

Shit.

Too late for subtleties.

Peter strode to the chest. He took out the key from his pocket and crouched in front of the coffer. His heart was beating faster, thumping into his ears. He just needed his backpack, and he was out. Forget about the clothes.

Hurried footsteps stomped closer and closer to his room.

The precipitation rendered Peter less precise. He fiddled with the key hole, struggling to slide the key in place in the near dark, the slight tingle of his spider-sense not helping.

"Come on," he whispered, adrenaline peaking.

The key finally found its way in.

The door was thrown wide open, and light suddenly bathed the room.

Peter was out of time.

"Benjamin, is that you? Oh my God, where have you been?" Sarah tried to cover the quaver in her voice. She stepped in lightly, as if she was afraid to scare a wild animal, with Bob on her heels. "We have been so worried about you. You weren't in your room and the window was wide open…"

Peter didn't answer. He had his back to them, but he still lowered his head, just in case. They couldn't see him like this. The gash on his forehead had stopped bleeding, but it would still require a few hours before it was completely closed, and a few more before no trace was left.

"We thought…" the crack in her voice stopped Sarah from finishing her sentence.

Peter closed his eyes in a vain attempt to shut himself from the world.

This was exactly what he had foolishly hoped to avoid. He had been selfishly trying to ignore how the Abbotts would feel, and the universe was punishing him by flinging the full weight of their worry in his face.

"When did you get back in? We didn't hear you."

Peter turned his head away from Sarah as she kneeled next to him. His hood was still drawn up, helping him to hide his face.

"Are you ok? …Benjamin?"

She approached her hand from his hood when he didn't answer. Peter pushed her back, the gesture a lot gentler than it was on his first night with the Abbotts.

"I am. Don't worry about me," he replied, unable to cover the guilt in his voice.

"Benjamin, please, look at me," she implored.

Peter didn't move, hoping she would give up, leave him some space to collect himself and figure a way out. But she was relentless, her anxiety growing with each passing moment Peter refused to answer.

"What happened? Benjamin?"

Before Peter could react, she grabbed his arm and forced him to turn to her.

She looked at him, stunned, taking in the blood crusting his face, his swollen eyelid, his split lip.

Then she screamed. She screamed a blood chilling scream, the purest form of panic taking over her every thought.

"Oh my God!" She started to repeat, over and over, going a bit faster every time she said those three words. Tears she didn't seem to notice started to spill. She grabbed Peter's face, trying to wipe away the already dried blood with her thumb, only to make it fall in tiny specks in his eye and cheek. "Who did that to you?"

Without thinking, she tore off a piece of her pajama and spit on it as a second attempt to clean his face with it. When Peter pulled back from her touch, she reached for his head and cradled him against her, slightly rocking back and forth.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here to protect you," she hiccuped between two loud sob.

Peter, stupefied, didn't know how to react. He knew they would be worried for him… But Sarah was outright hysterical, repeating, "I'm sorry," over and over. Peter was left baffled in her arms, Sarah's reaction being far more than he could ever have anticipated.

Bob, who had been standing a bit behind to avoid overcrowding the kid, finally stepped in.

As he crouched next to Sarah, he exchanged a look with Peter. It didn't last long, as the kid quickly averted his eyes. But it was just enough to have a form of understanding pass between them.

"Sarah, sweet heart… He's okay, you can let him go," he tried to soothe her, gently stroking her cheek. He had his voice mostly under control, a faint shiver slipping through being the only clue his emotions were less in check than he let on.

Sarah just shook her head, new tears replacing the ones Bob had wiped away.

"N-No," she sobbed, tightening her embrace. "No, I failed him. I failed another child. I failed —"

"Sarah — Sarah, look at him. He's alive. You can let him go."

At that moment, it became crystal clear to Peter why he didn't try to leave earlier.

The Abbotts were very different from his Aunt May and Uncle Ben; yet in a way, they were also very similar, in that they were ready to give everything to raise a child that was not their own.

Peter foolishly thought that the affection he could hear in Sarah's voice when she talked about her children didn't include him. But Sarah and Bob genuinely cared about him. They knew close to nothing of him, had had him for only a few days, yet they seemed to love him as their own, from the very moment they had laid their eyes on him.

And there was something else… Something more discreet, something the Abbotts had camouflaged very well up until now. They looked like the typical happy couple in their mid-forties: good job, good car, good apartment… Peter didn't doubt for one second their happiness was real. But below the surface, under the polished appearances was an open, oozing wound. Something had happened to them. A tragedy they had not overcome yet, an event so major that it sent Sarah into tears when confronted with Peter's bloody face.

He didn't know what had brought him together with the Abbotts. He didn't know how he would get to his goal. But he did know one thing: they didn't deserve the stress he was inflicting them. And right at that moment, in the middle of this storm of emotions, it was all that mattered.

All intentions Peter had of leaving vanished the moment he returned Sarah's embrace.

"It's ok, I'm alright," he said softly. "I'm sorry I made you worry. It won't happen again, I promise."

It only made Sarah's cries worse.

"I'm ok," Peter reiterated. He repeated those words again and again like a mantra, each time draining more and more of Sarah's distress, until she was calm enough to listen to her husband.

"Honey, come," Bob said, grabbing her softly by the elbow. "You should go back to bed. I'll patch him up."

"But—"

"You need to rest. I won't let him out of my sight."

He looked at her intently and she knew he had the situation handled.

Finally, she let go of Peter. She cast him a last glance as she got up, but the kid had already lowered his head again. As she left, Bob quietly grabbed her hand, squeezing it in a reassuring way before softly letting her go.

Once the door of their room had clicked shut, Bob rounded on Peter.

"You, in the bathroom. Now."

His tone, if a bit shaky, was a lot drier.

* * *

Bob closed the door behind him.

"Take off your clothes." He whispered the order, not wanting to alert Sarah and rekindle the anguish attack she just had.

He had not intended for the kid to get in his underwear in front of him, but as he observed him more attentively, it was clear he had cuts everywhere, and not only on his face.

Peter reddened.

"I can take care of myself. You don't have to, you know."

Bob ignored him and turned towards a high bathroom cabinet, retrieving the first aid kit.

"Don't discuss this with me, I'm not in the mood."

Peter had no choice but to obey. He reluctantly removed his clothes, discreetly taking off his web-shooters as he passed his hands in his sleeves.

He stood in front of Bob in his underpants, embarrassed. The man was trying to hide a mixed look of dismay and terror — if such a thing was possible — as he assessed the boy's state.

Peter turned his head away, feeling uncomfortable, and unintentionally met with his reflection in the mirror

He was quite a sight. Between his unusually lean muscles for a child and the cuts scattered all over his body, he sure had an uncommon figure. Peter eyed himself, starting from the lower part of his body and going up, until blue eyes looked back at him. He promptly turned his head away. He still wasn't used to his face; he didn't know if he would ever be.

"Benjamin, what did you do?" Bob asked, clearly frightened for the boy.

"I'm fine, it doesn't hurt."

Of course it hurt. But Peter had known so much worse… A few cuts were nothing in comparison. It barely stung.

Bob clearly did not believe him. However, he still put down the first aid kit next to the sink.

"You need stitches. There's only so much I can do here. We'll have to take you to the hospital."

Peter stiffened, his mind raced.

On the one hand, going to the hospital would probably make things easier for the Abbotts. But that would mean exposing himself to the authorities, who would definitely do some digging around to learn how a kid like himself got in the state he was, after they determined the Abbotts didn't abuse him. If anything, doctors would raise questions when they would see his injuries, looking older than a few hours fresh thanks to his faster healing. Going to the hospital would mean exposing his face, therefore his family, to an extent. It was no better than giving the wrong answers to the questions the Abbotts had been expecting from him.

On the other hand, if he refused to go to the hospital, the Abbotts would be asking themselves even more questions. They would be more suspicious of him; and staying with them would end up more difficult than it already was. But if he chose that option, he had more control over how many people knew about him, and how much they were willing to search on him. But that was if the Abbotts didn't freak out and rat him out to CPS after his night stroll.

If he chose the second option, if he kept things under control here, if he managed to avoid bringing even more strangers in on his case… His family wouldn't be involved.

Overall, there was no good option. Just one with a less disastrous outcome than the other… If handled properly.

Peter really did mess up. He should have fled through the window as soon as he heard Sarah in the corridor. He had been so stupid to be stubborn over that bag when he could simply have come back later for it.

And then what… Leave the Abbotts to worry themselves to death as the child they were supposed to take care of went missing?

"It won't be necessary. Look, I already stopped bleeding," Peter argued, pointing at a random cut on his arm. "We just need to clean these wounds and I'll be good to go. Fresh as new."

He grabbed the first aid kit, sat on the closed toilet seat and took out a bottle of antiseptic and a pack of gauze. Peter held in a hiss as the disinfectant burned his raw wound.

Bob exhaled sharply, crossed the few steps that separated him from Peter and seized the spray and pads from his hands. Kneeling down next to him, he picked up where he had stopped Peter.

"Ok, no more lies kid. Why don't you want to go to the hospital? Is this linked to the reason why you snuck out?"

Peter pinched his lips, harboring a determined look on his face. He was reflecting on the answer he would give, but Bob interpreted his expression as if he decided not to answer him.

Bob threw the gauze to the ground and got up. He was done with Peter's behavior.

"This is ridiculous. You vanish God knows how — and don't tell me you snuck out through the door because we were in the living room the whole time — only to reappear badly hurt hours later, refusing to go to the hospital."

He was barely containing his anger.

"You won't answer me? Then I won't do you any favors. Put your clothes back on, we're going to the ER."

Bob bent down to pick up Peter's hoodie and pants. Hoodie that had the web-shooters loose in the sleeves. Peter jumped to his feet.

"No!" Peter almost screamed.

This got Bob to stop mid-movement and look back up at him.

"I'm scared, ok?" Peter admitted.

Technically, this was not a lie.

"Of the hospital?"

Peter nodded.

"Why?" Bob asked, straightening up.

"'Cause… I just don't like this place."

Still not a lie.

Bob studied him. Crossed his arms.

"Ok, let's say I believe you. How did you get hurt?"

"Fell through a window."

Partial truth.

"You what?"

Alarmed, Bob strode back to him, this time grabbing him by the shoulders. He inspected him more closely.

"How did that happen?"

Bob turned Peter around, examining his back, checking that no piece of glass was encrusted in his skin.

"I tripped."

That was definitely a lie. One that Bob caught onto.

"Benjamin…" Bob warned.

"It was just some guys, but you don't have to worry —"

Bob suddenly turned Peter back to him, forcing him to face him. His eyes were wild, filled with fear he wasn't bothering to hide. The sudden display unsettled Peter.

"Some guys? Who were they? Who did that to you?"

"I don't know, I just went out because I needed to think and they just… happened to be there."

"Did you see their faces? Hear their names?"

"What? No!"

"Are you sure? Can you tell me anything about them?"

"I — I don't remember. But don't worry, the police came and they've been arrested."

"The police was there?"

"Y-yeah."

"Then why didn't they bring you back here themselves? Or even call us? You've been missing for hours, they have your profile, they should have known!"

Of course the Abbotts called the police. Dumbass.

"I… ran off?"

"You what now? Ok, come sit down," Bob commanded drily as gestured to the toilet seat.

Peter did as he was asked, wary. But Bob simply pulled out a fresh gauze, gorged it in antiseptic and got back to cleaning Peter's wounds. He was not gentle, but Peter didn't complain.

"I want to know everything from the moment you locked yourself in your room. You don't leave a single detail out."

Peter took a deep breath. He could not mess that one up. He exhaled, and started his story.

He told Bob what he wanted to hear. He told him about how he just went out to think. How he accidentally witnessed a robbery and the thieves attacked him because of it. He told him how someone saved him and stopped the crooks. How the police arrived and he ran away, came back home.

Bob listened without interrupting him. Thought for a while, in silence.

"You missed the part on how you snuck out through the window on the 12th floor."

Peter looked at Bob from the corner of his eye. He had moved onto his lower back cuts, but his attention was on his face, examining it. Peter looked away.

Shit.

He needed to think. Fast. There was no fire escape near his window, or it would have been too easy for his Parker luck, right? But how else could he explain a ten year old boy disappearing from his locked room tens of feet from the floor? He couldn't tell Bob about the spider-side of him; but there was no other explanation possible.

He wanted to trust the man. And after all the worry he caused him, he deserved the truth. But the truth was not only his to give anymore. Ultimately, the way it was handled would affect life beyond his scope.

He would have to ask Bob to trust him instead. Tell him that this part had to stay a secret. Bob wouldn't like it. But either he would accept it; or he'd turn him back to CPS. Which wasn't so bad since the Abbotts wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. Unless they reported his bad behavior too, giving reasons to the service to pay more attention to him.

He was about to take a leap of faith, and he was standing on the —

Of course.

"The ledge," Peter stammered. "There's that ledge, below the window. It goes all around the building. I followed it until I reached the fire escape."

Bob stopped moving altogether.

"You went on the… Are you insane? You could have died!"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry!"

"You risked your life just so you could go out to think?!"

"I know how it sounds—"

"Then you get attacked by armed robbers —"

"It won't happen again —"

"— and when you get back, you don't see fit to tell us you were hurt?!"

"…I didn't want to scare you."

"Well, that sure was a success! Do you even realize... What was going on in your mind?!" Bob whispered his shouts, his fear finally expressing itself through the anger spilling with his words. "How could you possibly think for one minute that it was a good idea to play tightrope walker? What would your parents say to that, huh? Do you think they'd allow it? Do you think they'd be proud of you?"

May would have been. She understood him. She acknowledged his drive. She had his back.

But she would have been scared too. Every time he came back hurt he tried to hide it from her — unless he was in too bad of a shape to treat himself on his own — because he knew that behind her brave façade and encouraging words, she was scared for him. He knew she used to follow the news whenever a big battle he was involved with was going on in town, hoping he'd come back home after. He knew every time he went on patrol she worried about him, despite her trust in him.

Yes she was proud.

But she was scared too.

Just like Sarah had been. Just like Bob was.

"I promised Sarah, and promise it again to you: I won't do it anymore." Peter turned to Bob, looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry I made you worry that much, I didn't realize. I understand the risks I took and how stupid it was, and I understand I scared you. You have my word, I won't do it again."

Bob examined him, then exhaled sharply. He started working on Peter's leg.

Silence returned to the room. The tension seemed to have left somewhat, but not entirely.

When Bob finally spoke, his voice was softer, a trace of melancholy over-lining it.

"I'm just wondering what kind of horrors a boy could have been through that would make him think risking his life was not a big deal."

Peter looked away, unconsciously clenching his fists.

"I... You can't..." Imagine. "Please, don't call CPS. Don't tell them what I did, it was a stupid mistake and I don't want it to follow me."

For once, it was Bob who did not answer. Peter turned back to him, seeking his eyes. But either he did not notice, or, more likely, he pretended he was too focused on his task.

"Please," implored Peter, barely exaggerating his plea. "This could cause me a lot more trouble than it's worth."

"Alright, what about us then? Sarah and I. We've worked with CPS for years. We established ourselves as a trusted foster home. What do you think would happen if we start lying to them?"

"I know what I'm asking you is irresponsible."

"Exactly. And being responsible is accepting being held accountable for your mistakes."

Ouch. That one burnt harder than the rubbing alcohol on his cuts.

Peter rubbed the ball of his hands against his eyes, being more gentle on his puffed up lid. It seemed like the swell was already starting to go down. Peter let his hand fall back on his lap.

"You're right. I'm sorry. It's just..." He took a deep breath. Here came another half-truth, one that would just raise more questions for the Abbotts; but he guessed he could probably not get out of this one unscathed. "If my family learns about it, if I get a record, they'll freak out. And they don't deserve the stress, after everything they've been through."

He was maybe talking about an imaginary family to Bob, but the emotion in his voice was just as real as the fear he had of the Parkers discovering his existence.

"So, you do have a family after all. I was starting to wonder when you kept avoiding talking about yourself."

Peter played scared little orphan again as the discussion was stirring into dangerous waters.

"I don't know if they're... Just... Please."

Bob cast a quick glance to Peter. It seemed to work.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'll think about it."

Peter nodded.

"Thanks."

Bob worked in silence after that, a feeling of awkwardness filling in instead of words. Bob finished with the cut on Peter's forehead. He dropped the last gauze with the others, near the almost empty antiseptic bottle, and sighed.

"I know you don't want to go to the hospital but you still need stitches."

Instantly, Peter was alert again. He almost jumped to his feet as he reached for the first aid kit.

"No, no, I'm fine I swear!"

"Hey, careful now, you'll restart the bleeding!" exclaimed Bob in a mild panic.

"Look, the cuts aren't that deep," Peter argued, extracting bandages from the bag. "We just need to tie those real tight and stitches won't be necessary."

"Benjamin..."

Peter looked Bob straight in the eyes and proclaimed with all the assurance in the world:

"I heal fast. Look, let's just do it for now. If tomorrow the cuts are still open then I'll agree to go to the hospital. Deal?"

Bob was incredulous.

"That's not how it works."

"Deal?" Peter insisted.

"You are really stubborn, do you know that?"

"Yeah, I've been told so once or twice," Peter smirked.

Bob managed to hide a smile behind a sigh as he took one of the bandages from Peter's hand.

* * *

Bob wasn't lying when he promised Sarah he wouldn't let Benjamin out of his sight. Peter was forced to stay next to Bob as he called the police to inform them the kid was back, and he left him no choice but to sleep in their room after Bob dragged his mattress in there. He wasn't leaving him any chances, but Peter knew better than to complain.

Sarah was not sleeping, but she had calmed down a lot by then. She gasped nonetheless when she saw Peter wrapped up in bandages.

That night, no one went back to sleep.

* * *

**END CHAPTER NOTES**

Hey guys,

So, you're gonna laugh but... this is still not the whole chapter.

When I realized I reached 15k words for that part 2 alone and that it still wasn't close to finished I decided to spilt the chapter... again!

Sorry, I'm still new at this and I didn't realize how long this would get x) Next update will be the end of what the whole third chapter was supposed to be! (no splitting again next time, I promise! This won't become a running gag x) )

Usual thanks to Noiter and SanaTomb 3

And feel free to leave comments, I love reading your thoughts on the story 3


	5. It's Abbott Time! (Part 3)

** May 2012**

The next day was...awkward to say the least.

The Abbotts, Sarah especially, were stepping around Peter as if he were made of sugar and one wrong word would send him crumbling to pieces.

But Peter wasn't exactly helping them either. He deflected any attempt at communication they flung at him. He was trying, he really was; but he just didn't know how to speak with them anymore. He realized that the more the day progressed, the more he shut down on himself; but he couldn't help it. He felt bad every time he left a question unanswered, even one as simple as "Do you want cereals for breakfast?" He felt bad for every reply he didn't give immediately, and he felt worse for every second that went by coated in a thick silence, widening the gap between him and the Abbotts.

He felt sour on the inside. He didn't know where the negativity came from, and he was certain it wasn't directed at the Abbotts, who were just doing their best to help what they thought was a helpless child. Yet, words still wouldn't come.

For the Abbotts, it felt like they had regressed to day one, all the progress made in the last few days lost in that one, unfaithful night.

Peter didn't say anything when Bob screwed his window to the frame, sealing it shut.

He didn't say anything either when Bob checked on his injuries and looked baffled when he discovered under the bandages cuts that looked weeks old and scars almost faded. But Peter sure gave him a look that said 'I told you so.'

Peter was in the living room of his Aunt's apartment. Everything was just as he remembered: the comfy blanket rolled into a ball lying abandoned at the feet of the couch, the remote left on the dining table, too far from the TV to be of any convenience, the family pictures of him with May and Ben…

"Aunt May?" Peter called, confused.

"Peter?" answered May from the bathroom, surprised. "Are you back already? I missed you!"

She emerged from her bedroom, all smiles. Peter didn't realize how much her absence had impacted him until her fragrance filled the air. He flung himself into her arms.

"I missed you too May. Are you alright?" he asked, head buried in her shoulder.

"Of course I am," she chuckled, lighthearted. "Thanks for worrying for your old aunt."

Peter would never let her go again. He felt safe in her arms; it was where he belonged. He had missed her so much. So so much.

"I like what you did to your hair," May commented, softly running a hand through his locks.

Peter frowned, confused.

"What I did to my…"

He looked up, and met with his reflection in the entrance mirror. The blond of his hair was striking.

"It's not me."

Peter let go of May.

"Oh, I know! Are you on a secret undercover mission for Nick Fury?"

Peter turned to Ned. He was sitting on the couch, looking his usual enthusiastic self.

"Yell it even louder, I'm sure the tapped microphones didn't catch that," MJ scolded him.

She walked to Peter, gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Hi nerd. You look… smaller."

Peter looked up at her. She was towering over him by at least two heads.

His ears started rigging. He was alarmed by now.

"It's not me, I did not—"

Uncle Ben walked into the room, carrying grocery bags.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Ben stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed Peter.

"Oh hey little guy, you're back!" he noticed, a genuine smile suddenly illuminating his face. "What do you want for dinner?"

Any ability to function like a normal human being left Peter. All he could do was look at his dead Uncle smiling at him, as if nothing had ever happened.

The rigging in his ears turned into a low, deafening rumble. A crack appeared out of nowhere, the fissure in realty growing wider and wider. Tony emerged from it, fell to the ground. He struggled to get back up, one hand never leaving his stomach.

"Pete! Whatever happens, you must stop him!"

So much alarm in his voice. He was panicking.

He staggered to Peter, the giant hole in his stomach slowing down his pace.

Thanos walked through the crack in turn. His eyes locked with Peter's, and immediately Peter's mind was ransacked, every corner of it being ripped off by the giant's willpower. The blow was so powerful, so painful, it took all he had not to fall on his knees.

"I know everything there is to know about you, Peter Parker," said the Titan, slowly. The confidence of someone who knew he had already won was radiating in his voice. "Stay out of it, and you and your family might yet survive."

Tony looked at Peter intently. All the trust, all the confidence he had ever had in him was determinedly written on his face.

"You made a choice. We need to keep fighting. Do you hear me? We can't let him win."

Peter took a step towards Tony.

"I warned you," said Thanos ominously.

He raised his fist…

"No!" Peter cried, his spider-sense going off so strongly it blinded him.

…And snapped his fingers.

The force in his mind was so powerful it blasted Peter awake. He was still shouting. He was still blind. His breathing fast and shallow, he jumped out of his bed, this time managing to free himself from the comforter without getting tangled up in it. He rushed for his bedroom door and threw it open.

Part of him knew he was at the Abbotts; but he was still too caught up in his terror to be fully aware of it. It was the first time the nightmare came back to plague his sleep since the night he decided to go back on patrol. But if the previous iterations had toyed with his fears, this time it had flung them at him, varnished in an extra coat of realism, making up for the few calm nights preceding that one. This time, it got Peter shaking to his core.

As he ran through the dark corridor, his mind couldn't help but replay the snap in a loop. The nightmares had never gone that far before; it felt like he had failed for the second time.

He couldn't let the world end again. He had to do something.

"Benjamin!"

The slap of a hand on a switch and light chased away the darkness. Peter closed his eyes, suddenly blinded, but he kept going. Nothing would stop him.

"Benjamin, stop!"

The voice sounded distant, but the note of panic in it was perfectly clear. Running footsteps heavily slapped the ground behind him, growing closer. Peter reached for the door. He extended his hand. His fingers barely brushed the handle when strong arms took a hold of him, lifted him from the ground and spun him away from the door.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Bob all but shouted in his ear.

"Let me go!" Peter flailed in his grip, one arm trying to free himself, the other wildly hitting around, his heels colliding with Bob's shins. "I have to do something, I have to!"

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere!"

Bob walked away from the door, half carrying Peter, struggling under the boy's blows.

"You don't understand! He's coming! He's coming and I can't let that happen!" implored Peter, despair overtaking him.

"Who's coming?"

Peter put more strength into his struggle.

"Please, just let me go!"

Bob had to pause to try and shield himself from the blows while still holding Peter.

"Hey, calm down, it was just a dream!" he huffed.

"Let me go!"

"Benjamin, stop! You're_hurting _me!"

The remnants of his night terror left Peter as he finally realized where he was and what he was doing. Peter stopped struggling, but kept his hold on Bob's arms, panting. He was feeling a mix of horror and relief at how close he had come to doing actual physical damage to Bob.

Bob waited until he was sure Peter had calmed down before he asked.

"You good?"

Peter nodded.

"You won't do anything stupid if I let you go?"

"N-no," Peter answered shakily.

"Alright then."

Bob warily opened his arms, unsure of how much he could trust the kid. But as he freed him, Peter proved true to his words. Apart from staggering a bit on his legs, he didn't move much. Sarah, who had been watching from afar, finally approached them and crouched in front of Peter.

"What happened?" she asked him, visibly shaken.

Peter turned his head away from Sarah, ashamed for having once more caused her trouble.

"Nothing. Just a nightmare, like Bob said."

"Benjamin, talk to us! You'll never get better if you keep closing yourself off!"

Peter squared his jaw shut.

"Why? Why won't you say anything?" Sarah pleaded.

Peter was determined not to say a word. However, he made the mistake of looking into Sarah's eyes when she cupped his chin and made him turn his head towards her. His shell cracked.

"Because— Because I can't make any sense of it myself."

Bob put a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder.

"We can help you sort it all out, you know."

Peter lowered his head, shrugged Bob's hand off.

"I— Sorry, I can't tell you," he refused, his voice small.

"Are you saying that because of what happened last night?" Sarah assumed.

Peter's head shot up.

"What? No, that's not what I—"

Sarah did not let him finish his sentence.

"I know I overreacted last night, I'm sorry." She nibbled at her lower lip. "I guess I owe you an explanation."

She shifted into a seated position, letting herself fall back directly on the floor.

Peter was dumbstruck by the sudden change of subject. It must have been on Sarah's mind all day long for her to take that unexpected direction.

"Honey, you don't have to," intervened Bob comfortingly.

Sarah went for it nonetheless.

"Yesterday, I… panicked. The state you were in… It was close to—"

She took in a shaky breath. Bob sat next to her and took her hand in his own, nudged her to go on with an encouraging smile. Peter felt a jab of homesickness; the couple's relationship reminded him very strongly of his Aunt and Uncle's. Sweet and caring and always supportive of each other.

"As I told you already, we fostered many children, each with their own set of problems," Sarah continued. "It's not the first time things are a bit… difficult. But the only other time one of our children was hurt as badly as you were yesterday…" Tears started to well up in her eyes. She blinked furiously to chase them away. "I told you about Harper, the girl we fostered before you. She was so full of anger, it was like she had a live fire burning inside of her. Working with her was not easy. She had never been placed in a family before; the only thing she knew was the orphanage and the bad company that went with it. These… guys kept getting her in trouble, and at first, she did everything she could to keep associating with them. But she had dreams," Sarah smiled. "She wanted to be an oceanographer. So we put her in a different school. She ended up dropping those people altogether and made new friends. She worked a lot, and hard. She was a changed person, you should have seen her. She still had her issues, but she was working on them. Her proudest moment was when she received a scholarship to ESU. She surprised everyone, but mostly herself. She was so happy, it was such a blessing to witness when only three years prior she wanted nothing else but to drop out of school entirely.

"But her past caught up with her. One of the gangs she had cut ties with wanted to settle some issues with her. They contacted her, lured her into some back alley." Sarah couldn't hold back her sobs anymore. "She was found dead a few days before graduation."

Bob squeezed Sarah's hand tighter.

For Peter, it finally made sense. Sarah's emotional state the night before. Bob's reaction when he learned about the crooks beating him up. He must have thought they were the same people who killed Harper and were now targeting him, as if they were on some kind of vendetta against the Abbotts' children for whatever reason.

Peter stood there, watching this couple mourn the death of a child, and he felt even more terrible for putting them through so much distress now that he had the bigger picture. He was comforted in his decision not to done the suit so long as he was under their care.

His stomach sunk so low the neighbors two stories down below might as well pick it up and sell it to the black market.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. It's not fair," was all Peter could say.

"Life is not always fair," Bob replied, bitterly. "Harper had a bright future and she was robbed of it."

"But you, you're here," Sarah pointed out as she rubbed her tears away. "Whatever happened that day, you survived it. You still have all your life in front of you. I know you're going through a hard time right now, but life goes on and I'm sure great things await you.

"I know you feel like we don't understand, but trust me… We know what it's like to have our world shatter, because that's certainly how it felt the day the police came knocking at our door to tell us the news. And I bet for you, it must have felt like the end of the world back there…"

"It did." Peter could almost smile at the irony.

Sarah grabbed his hand and gently pulled on it, inviting him to join them on the living room floor.

"Talk to us."

Peter tried to ignore her plea.

"I…"

Her hand kept pulling him. It wasn't forcing him to do anything; the touch was light, loving. He knew she would let go if he asked her to.

Maybe that's why he gave up on fighting them. Maybe it would lessen their worry if he talked to them.

He slowly sat down, facing them, and gathered his knees to himself.

"That day, I was with… a friend. The attack had already begun, but there was that thing he had to do. He didn't want me to, but I insisted on coming anyway. I wanted to help, you know? To make sure he would be ok. I…" Peter unconsciously lowered his voice, ashamed. "I did not realize the attack would be that dangerous. My friend got… hurt, because of me. Very badly."

Sarah gasped.

"Is he ok? We could go visit him at the hospital if…" she trailed off, not daring to finish voicing her thought.

"He's alive. I know that much." Peter rested his chin on his knees. He fought against the constriction of his throat. "But he doesn't remember me. There's something very important I have to tell him and he doesn't even know who I am anymore."

Sarah seemed to read him like an open book.

"You feel guilty about what happened to him, don't you?" She asked, her tone compassionate.

Peter nodded. His eyes were starting to water.

"I keep asking myself how things would have turned out if I hadn't been there. Maybe he wouldn't have been k— _hurt._ Maybe the situation wouldn't have ended as dramatically as it did."

Peter remembered clear as day Doctor Strange's prediction that they couldn't win; he knew they were completely outmatched by Thanos. Yet he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he had not been there to get Tony injured, if Tony had still been able to fight.

"Yes, maybe," Sarah conceded. "But you don't know that. Maybe things would have gone way worse. It was so dangerous out there, with the Chitauri raining from the sky. If you had not been where you were that day, maybe you would have died. And maybe your friend would have lost his life…"

Peter closed his eyes before the tears could escape on their own.

"…and you wouldn't have been there to tell the story. Because you were there to see it, you know what happened. You can tell your friend about it when you see him again. There's no use dwelling on the 'what ifs', what matters is that you're here today. With us. What matters is what you are going to do tomorrow, not what you could have done yesterday."

"There's nothing I can do. That… story I have to tell him, he'll never believe it coming from me. I told you, he doesn't remember who I am."

"Well, you don't have to tell him yourself. You could find other ways to get the story across to him."

"Other ways to…" Peter's head shot up. He looked at Sarah, stupefied. "How?"

"I don't know, you'll have to think of a way that you know you can reach your friend. You could write him a letter, or give him a phone call? Or talk to his family."

Peter scoffed, defeated.

"He's not that easily reachable."

"But you are close to him, right?"

"He's like family."

"Then I trust you'll find a way. You're a smart boy."

"Benjamin, there's something I don't understand," intervened Bob. "What about your family?"

Peter pinched his lips, looked away.

"We… uh… got separated during the attack. I don't know anything about what happened to them."

He felt bad for lying again, especially right after having been the most honest he's been in days. But without a birth certificate to at least prove his existence, or anyone to vouch for him, there was no way—

Peter froze on the outside, but his mind was racing.

Maybe there was a way. He didn't dare keep his hopes too high, but maybe, just maybe… He had to check.

Peter hastily got to his feet.

"I should go back to bed, it's very late."

"Are you ok?" Sarah asked, concerned by this sudden fresh energy.

"Yes! You were right, talking to you helped. A lot. I shouldn't bother you any longer, you need sleep too. Good night!"

It took everything in Peter not to straight up run to his room; but his pace was still fast. He was already at his door when the Abbotts called good night after him, a bit surprised.

Peter closed the door behind him and turned on the light. He could feel his heart beating in his head as he crossed his room to the chest, unlocked it and looked for his ripped mask. As he put it on his face, holding it in place, he knew what to expect; but he tried nonetheless.

"Hey Karen, are you there?" he whispered, tentatively. "Pal?"

The lenses obstinately stayed opaque.

He put the mask down, only slightly disappointed, and picked his suit instead, to examine the circuits inside. He laid it on his desk, the tear on top.

Between his panic when he woke up and the damage the suit sustained in the explosion on Titan, the main circuits, as well as the alternate ones, had been cut off, effectively disabling Karen. But upon closer inspection, the mother chip seemed intact; with the tip of his finger, Peter followed the circuit to the USB socket. The whole thing's integrity seemed preserved. Which meant…

Excited, Peter fished out his phone from his backpack. He was welcomed by the discharged icon when he tried to turn it on, but it gave him hope. The battery was just dead; but the phone was still working.

This meant he could attempt to transfer Karen to his phone.

It was a custom Starkphone, made not only to be more resistant to his chaotic lifestyle than regular ones, but was also powerful enough to support an artificial intelligence. Peter had never deemed it useful to have Karen in his pocket — especially since he tried to keep his two lives separate. Any stranger casting unwanted glances at his phone would wonder how a random guy from Queens could have access to such technology; the Stark internship wasn't a good enough reason to explain the possession of a fully functional AI.

But this was an emergency. Peter needed Karen; alone, he could never leave the Abbotts without hurting them. However, with Karen's help…

He needed a phone chord.

The following day was long. Very long.

Not because of the Abbotts; their midnight talk had somehow unlocked something in Peter and, even though he didn't answer any personal questions they would casually ask him, he was more talkative than he'd been in the past few days. He also willingly engaged in every activity they suggested, if only to pass the time; they even went jogging in Central Park, which Peter didn't know he needed until he breathed in the cool morning air. Running was not as liberating as web-swinging or free dropping, but anything that would let him purge his accumulated frustration was good enough. He could have kept running a while longer, but the Abbotts had not "run in a while" and were "not that young anymore". None of them mentioned the strain the lack of sleep the last week had on them, and Peter's stamina was attributed to his youth.

No, the reason why the day felt so painfully long was that, during breakfast, Peter laid eyes on Sarah's phone charger on the kitchen bar.

Peter was tucked into bed a couple of hours before the Abbotts went to sleep. He waited at least another thirty minutes after no sound other than deep breathing could be heard from their bedroom before he ventured out of his own.

He quietly opened his door and tiptoed his way to the living room. After the chaos he previously caused, he expected the Abbotts to be a lot more vigilant, and he wasn't about to risk his chance. He carefully took the charger and successfully made his way back to his bedroom, undetected.

He fervently plugged his phone and sat on the floor, his back to his bed, and went back to waiting until there was enough battery to attempt a transfer. However, after a couple of minutes, — which felt like ten in Peter's defense — he had no patience left. The gleaned six percent of battery were not enough yet, so Peter had to content himself with turning his phone on and browsing through it while it charged.

He opened Instagram first. It loaded looking exactly the same as it was the last time he opened it, but the message 'Couldn't refresh feed' briefly appearing caught his attention. Peter frowned, looked at the top of the screen and bitterly scoffed. No phone services. Obviously. Guess his phone plan didn't extend all the way to 2012.

What he was seeing on his screen was the remnants of 2022, all held up in a few kilobytes of cache memory. Peter opened Michelle's story and was surprised to see that the last picture they took together was loaded. It was a selfie of them both making a face while holding sandwiches, captioned "grabbing a bite with the nerd." Michelle had framed the picture to only show one eye and part of her forehead, as she always did on pictures she intended to share online. The image felt bittersweet in light of the events that would change the course of history but a few hours after the picture was taken.

Peter didn't know why he screenshot the story, but he did.

He kept scrolling through the feed and the stories, curious to know what his friends were up to before the end of the world. He knew the idea was weird and felt wrong and made him feel anxious, but he couldn't help it. However, not all stories were loaded, and the further down he scrolled, the less pictures were available, until none were left.

Instagram had been a mistake. The trip down memory lane had left him starving for more. Seeing pictures of his friends had done nothing but remind him of how much he missed them. Of how alone he was.

He opened his gallery and explored his own aisle of pictures, scrolling through memories of family and friends ten years older than they currently were. Ned making faces at that conference held by Dr. Richards. Selfie with Aunt May after movie night. MJ flipping him off with a smug smile as she noticed the camera. May, Tony and him holding a Stark Internship diploma. Selfie with the Midtown-High decathlon team for graduation day, three years ago. His first date with MJ.

Peter locked his screen and let his phone fall on his lap. He rubbed his eyes with the ball of his hands, exhaling shakily. He knew nothing about how he got there, but he refused to believe there was no chance that this was all temporary and that he wouldn't get his life back. He wouldn't cry.

He gave himself a few more moments to let his emotions settle back before he picked up his phone again.

Forty-one percent. That would do.

Peter jumped to his feet, unplugged the cord from the charger and stormed to the chest. He all but threw his suit on his desk and exposed the USB socket.

He paused for a second in anticipation, pinching the extremity of the phone cord between his thumb and index.

"Alright. Don't let me down, please."

He took in an encouraging breath and plugged his phone into the suit.

At first nothing happened.

Then, a window popped up.

'Do you wish to download Karen to this device?'

Peter hastily pressed 'yes' and almost shouted the word himself as the loading icon appeared on the screen.

"I can't believe it worked," Peter murmured excitedly. "I'm a genius!" Karen would have his back from now on; he wouldn't be alone anymore.

The download completed, and another window popped up.

'Do you wish to switch to Karen's user interface?'

'Yes.'

His old theme vanished to be replaced by a red and blue one with a design similar to the one he had access to in his mask.

A familiar cheerful voice chimed in.

"Good evening, I am Karen your personal assistant. Please identify yourself."

Hearing Karen's voice instantly relieved a lot of tension in Peter's shoulders. Having a part of his past around, Karen especially, made him feel safer.

"Hi Karen, it's so good to hear you. It's Peter," he said, his lips stretching into a big smile.

"Voice recognition failed. Please identify yourself."

Peter's smile dropped as fast as it had come, sweeping along his heart to depths unknown as reality caught back to him.

"Oh no. No, no, no."

"Voice recognition failed. Please identify yourself."

"Karen, it's me! Peter Parker! You have to recognize me."

"Voice recognition failed. Please identify yourself."

Peter picked up his phone and held it in front of his face.

"Karen, scan my retina."

"Retina scan does not match data base 100%. Access denied."

Peter dropped his phone on the desk and took a step back. He would not panic.

Definitely not.

Karen was too close to his reach for him to give up on her now. His mind raced. Maybe she wasn't accessible from the user interface; but Peter, with Ned's help, had messed enough time in her code to know his way around it.

He needed a computer.

Peter silently went back to the living room to borrow Sarah's laptop. As he made his way back to his room with the forbidden loot in his hands, he hoped really hard the Abbotts wouldn't decide to come check on him that night, because he would have one hell of a time finding an excuse as to why he was on their computer at one in the morning.

Putting down the computer on the desk after he brushed aside the useless suit, Peter connected his phone, opened the command prompt and immediately got to work. He entered the series of passwords, passed all the security checks successfully and found the line of code he was looking for. He forced the system to add his current voice and retinas to his profile and restarted his phone.

"Good evening, I am Karen your personal assistant." Karen repeated at start up. "Please identify yourself."

"Peter Parker," he stated, determined.

"Hi Peter, it's been a while! I'm glad to see you made it."

Peter sighed, relieved, and the smile found its way back on his lips.

"Hi Karen, hi… Yeah, you won't believe when I am, though."

"You seem to employ an improper usage of grammar. Should I check you for a concussion?"

It had been a while since Peter had laughed genuinely.

"Wait, you can actually do that from the phone?"

"This smartphone device does not have the required scanners to execute an in depth check. As the suit appears to be offline, I would recommend a trip to the Avengers facility or to the ER depending on your state of emergency."

"No Karen, it's ok, I'm fine. I was actually using the word 'when' on purpose."

"Were you, now?"

"So much has happened; these last few days have been the craziest."

He marked a pause.

"I need an internet connection, give me a sec."

Peter quickly retrieved the wi-fi password from the computer and entered it into his smartphone.

"Ok, now, check online what today's date is."

It took a few seconds for Karen to process.

"There appear to be a contradiction in between the date I am programmed with and the date the internet is providing."

"That's not a mistake. We time traveled." Peter blanked out. "Wow. It's actually the first time I've said it out loud and I'd love to argue that it sounded better in my head, but honestly? It's just as bad. I guess it's one more improbable thing I can add to my surprisingly long list of improbable things that's happened to me."

"I've added time travel to the list."

"Thanks Karen," Peter scoffed.

"But, Peter? I'm not quite sure I understand… I thought time travel was fictitious."

Peter sighed.

"I don't really get it either. I can tell you all I know, but that's not much. Let me just bring that computer back before I get caught with it," he said, laying a hand on said computer.

He stood up and barely made three steps when Karen called after him.

"Peter, I appear to be unable to connect to the Stark servers."

Peter stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, computer clutched in his arms.

"Are you telling me you've been trying to get into their system since you've gotten access to the internet?" he asked, voice flat.

"Yes, Peter."

"Karen, no! Stop that immediately!" he whisper-shouted as he leaped back to the desk.

"Connecting to the Stark servers is an automatic process —"

"Override code: I am the captain of this ship!" he threw wildly.

Him and Ned had implemented this key years ago, when he wanted to get more autonomy, to bypass Tony's control over Karen without his knowledge. It granted him total admin privileges.

"Karen, do not attempt to connect to the Stark servers ever again. Not without my permission. Understood?"

"Yes, Peter."

Somewhere in the apartment, a door opened.

"Shit," Peter cursed.

He threw the suit back in the chest, hid his phone and borrowed properties under his blanket and had just enough time to order Karen to "Mute" before Bob slid his head through the doorway.

"Are you having nightmares again?"

"No. No, I'm fine. I just can't sleep. Did I wake you up?"

"Don't worry about me. Are you ok? Do you need anything?"

"I'll just go back to bed. Try to sleep. Sorry for disturbing you."

Peter made a show of lifting his covers.

"Alright. Good night."

Bob closed the door.

Peter waited until he was back into his room to fish his phone from under the blankets.

"Unmute."

"Peter, who was that?"

"I'll explain. Just…" he put his head in his hands. "Do you realize what you've done?"

"I'm not quite sure I understand," she answered, as confused sounding as the AI could sound.

"Karen, it's 2012. You're not supposed to exist yet. You don't have the authorization to access the servers. It means that, when you try to connect, it can be perceived as a hacking attempt, and the last thing I need is Tony tracing it all back to me."

"I'm sorry Peter. I didn't know it would be an issue."

"It's not your fault. I should have thought about it earlier."

"You'll have to update me on the events I missed. I fail to understand why you are trying to hide from Mr. Stark."

Peter cast a quick glance at his bed. There was no use bringing the computer back as long as Bob might still be awake.

"All right. "

Somewhere else in Manhattan, AC/DC was blaring through a workshop's speakers as a man was toying with holographic projections of the interior of a building.

"Sir, I must inform you that there has been an attack on our system," alerted a disembodied voice with a strong British accent.

The man didn't seem alarmed.

"Did they breach in?"

"No, Sir. They were only trying to gain access to the system by repetitive request. They did not seem threatening, but they were persistent."

"So I'm guessing they didn't do any damage to the system."

"None, Sir."

"Then why are you telling me? This sounds like one of the regular cyber-attacks. Surely you've noticed I'm busy."

"It is because of the signature, Sir. Their cyber-print was quite similar to the ones we use."

This gave the man a pause.

"That's… odd."

"My thoughts exactly, Sir."

"Are you sure it wasn't a glitch?"

"Positive."

"Did you track them?"

"No, Sir. They were too well protected."

"Umph."

The man got back to work.

"Keep an eye on this, Jarvis. And alert me immediately next time they try again."

"Yes, Sir."

"This is illegal, Peter."

"Karen," Peter pleaded. "I can't do this without you."

"You are implying that you wish me to hack the government to create a false birth certificate. I can't condone that."

"Not just for me; for you too."

"Peter…"

"I can't stay here. I've told you why. The plan won't work if I don't have proper ID. Nor you, for that matter."

There was a moment of silence.

"Ok, I'll try my best."

Peter could have kissed her had she been real.

"Good morning!" Peter happily clamored when he walked into the living room. "What's for breakfast?" he asked as he sat down on his chair.

Warm sun rays found their way into the lounge, giving off a golden hue to the room. The day promised to be beautiful, and Peter couldn't help the big smile on his face.

"Well, someone apparently had a good night sleep." Seeing the kid in such a good mood warmed Sarah's heart. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

Peter's smile widened.

"Yeah, me too," he said without thinking.

Bob walked in from the kitchen, a full coffee pitcher in one hand, a box of cereals in the other.

"To answer your question, on the carte this morning you will get a full bowl of Fruit Loops, with the option of adding a supplement of milk should you want to, young man."

"Sounds good to me," replied Peter as he bent forward to grab an empty bowl from the pile in the middle of the table.

Bob set the cereals down near Peter and sat on his own chair. He served a cup of coffee to his wife, to himself, and didn't say anything more until he had had a sip of the blessed beverage.

"This week, I will be the one taking care of you," he said, putting the mug down and looking over at the boy, who was drowning his fruit loops in milk.

Peter pretended he didn't already know it.

"Did you take the week off?" he asked, before stuffing his face with a spoonful of cereals.

"I did." Bob grabbed a piece of toast. "But neither Sarah nor I will be able to do it again next week. Which brings up another problem."

Peter looked at Bob from the corner of his eyes, but didn't react any more than that. He knew fairly well what the problem was, but he still acted clueless.

"You've been here for almost a week now, and we haven't heard a single bit of news about your parents. Maybe we should consider—"

"Bob," Sarah reprimanded him. She took over, using her softest voice. "We don't know where they are or what happened to them, but we'll keep looking. I wish for you to be back with them as soon as possible," she said, turning to Peter, "but… if you were to still be with us next week… We will have to get you back to school."

Here it was. The unwanted bomb.

However, this time it had no effect on Peter. If things went as planned, he would be gone by the following day. He still tried to push down the treacherous thought that things rarely went as planned and kept his composure.

"But you don't have to go to a new one. We can get you back to your old school, with your friends."

Peter saw the quick look the adults exchanged. They were seeing an opportunity to fish for informations from him about his school. But there was no school to go back to, and no past to dig into.

"Errr… I was homeschooled," he lamely said, hoping he was convincing.

Peter couldn't help the pang of compassion he felt when he saw them deflate. They were trying so hard to help him.

"Well then… We will have to sign you up in the local school," Bob announced.

"Is it… Is it a problem for you?" Sarah asked, worriedly.

"Oh no, no, not at all. I have been to school before," Peter tried to reassure them.

What Bob was about to reply got lost in the phone's ringing, suddenly chiming through the living room. He got up to answer, wondering out loud who could be calling this early in the morning. Peter buried his head in his bowl to drink the milk, the gesture being a poor attempt at hiding the big smile that took over his face.

"Hello? This is Bob Abbott speaking."

The answer on the other side of the line got Bob frowning. He quickly glanced at the kid and turned his back to him.

"How did you get this number?… I'm sorry, but why didn't CPS contact us first?"

Stage fright crept on Peter. His moment was coming and he had to make a convincing performance. Why didn't he choose theater club in high school?

Bob turned back to them and Sarah got to her feet; but he didn't look at her. Instead, he handed the phone to Peter.

"Benjamin? It's a woman. She says she's your mom."

Sarah's hand jumped to her mouth. Peter mustered his best surprised look and took the phone.

"Hello?" The boy inquired, putting the phone to his ear.

A few seconds went by, during which the Abbotts could witness the expression on his face morph from a reserved look to one of pure elation.

"Mom! It's really you!" Benjamin exclaimed.

He jumped to his feet.

"I'm so happy to hear you, I missed you so much. I thought..."

He turned his back to the Abbotts and walked a few feet away from them, for privacy.

"But are you ok now? I've been so worried," he answered with a slightly shaky voice after the woman on the other end of the line spoke.

The boy sighed of relief.

"Yes, they've been very nice. I even have my own room!"

He shuffled a bit on his feet.

"Mom, when can I go home?" he asked pleadingly, his voice a few notes higher than usual. "Yes, I know… Ok… I love you too. Bye."

Without ending the call, Benjamin turned back and handed the phone to Mr. Abbott, who immediately proceeded to discuss a time to drop the kid off.

"What a nice surprise. You must be so relieved," Sarah told Benjamin, genuinely caring for him.

The boy nodded.

"I am," he smiled.

Peter walked back to his breakfast, wiping an imaginary tear away under Sarah's benevolent gaze.

Later, when Sarah had gone to the office and Bob busied himself with some paperwork, Peter managed to steal a moment away in his room.

"Karen, that was great! I can't believe it worked!" he excitedly whispered to his phone.

"You yourself gave quite a performance," she complimented.

"I couldn't have done it without you. _'__Make your pitch higher'..._ Where did you get that one?"

"I found that piece of advice listed on a few acting websites."

"Amazing. You're awesome, Karen. Thanks to you, tonight I'm free!"

Sarah managed to get off work earlier so that she could come with Bob and Peter at the point of rendez-vous. Karen had suggested a coffee shop to Bob from a well known chain in Queens to meet them; a coffee shop Peter had elected prior to the morning phone call as he was sure he would get the much needed wi-fi to proceed with his plan, as his phone had no service.

The little group arrived early to the meeting, and insisted Peter order some cake while they waited, deaf to his polite refusal.

As the Abbotts busied themselves with their own plates and drinks, Peter slid his phone out of his pocket to connect to the wi-fi. No sooner had he done so, Bob's cellphone rang.

"Hello?"

His brow furrowed.

"Are you sure you can't get through?"

He marked a pause as he listened to the answer.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I'm sure you can understand why I won't let a child go alone."

Uh oh. Peter stiffened in his chair. The conversation wasn't going as planned.

"I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule. Yes, I know, I'm very sorry about that. Bye."

He hungup and looked apologetically at Peter.

"It was your mom. She said she got off from the hospital in the morning, but she's feeling too weak to come."

"Why can't I go alone? I live nearby, I know the way," Peter pushed even though he knew the Abbotts' position on the matter.

"I'm sure you do, sweety," Sarah smiled compassionately. "That's not the problem."

"We can't let you out of adult supervision," Bob completed. "But you can take us to your place, and that way you can go see your mom tonight. What do you think about that?"

A normal child would have been very happy and very proud to lead the way to his home, and would have taken any opportunity to see his mom again. But Peter had no one he could introduce as a parental figure to Bob and Sarah. Frankly, he knew that having Karen ask for him to go home on his own was a stretch, but he had counted on their benevolence to understand the need Benjamin would have to see his mom again. Unluckily for him, they were too benevolent.

Peter found himself in a tight spot.

However, before he had the opportunity to blow his cover by replying anything, Bob's phone rang again. Peter watched warily, absentmindedly playing with his spoon as Bob picked up once more.

"Hello? This is Bob Abbott speaking."

Just like the precedent call, Bob scowled. He asked a few questions, hummed in agreement and grunted a few times before closing the conversation.

"It was CPS," he informed them once his phone was tucked away in his pocket. "They say things have been sorted out with your mom, and that we can drop you off at your place."

"They did?" Peter asked, incredulous.

"Yes. Ms. Reilly is resting in bed, so she won't be able to meet us," Bob informed Sarah. "But we have CPS green light to let him go back to her." He turned to Peter. "We can't let you walk alone, but I guess we can see you to your door."

Peter was dumbfounded. It had never been question to involve CPS into the escape plan. But he wasn't about to let his luck run out without taking advantage of it. He plastered on a huge smile and made a show of how excited he was. The Abbotts smiled affectionately, happy to see another of their children get a happy ending.

Behind the façade, Peter had no idea where things were going.

CPS had given Peter's address to the Abbotts. As they drove past building after building, Peter was dreading to see the final destination as one he knew and had no business being seen at. So when they parked in front of a complex unknown to him, Peter barely managed to hold back a sigh of relief.

Bob turned to him.

"Well Champ', this is your stop. Are you sure we can't come talk with your mom?"

"Uh, yes. If she couldn't come, she was probably resting in bed. She told me this morning she was still very tired. And if I know her, she probably won't want to be seen by strangers with a bed face," Peter lied too easily.

Bob sighed, disappointed. It would have reassured him to meet the person he was leaving the boy with.

"Don't worry honey, we understand," Sarah said to Peter. "Do you have everything?"

Peter lifted his carefully packed backpack for Sarah to see.

"I do!"

Peter opened the door.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," he said awkwardly. "Thank you, for everything. You helped me more than you know."

"You don't need to thank us," Sarah replied. "We were happy to be there for you."

"Son, you're very lucky to be able to get back to your mom. Too many children don't have that opportunity. Don't waste that chance and take good care of your family, will you?"

Peter looked at Bob. He didn't know what or why, but his words struck him.

"I will," was all he could say.

Peter got off and closed the door behind him. Aware that the Abbotts were still watching him, he walked nonchalantly to a random intercom and pressed the first name he saw.

"Yes?" a grumpy voice answered after a moment.

"Er... I forgot my keys," Peter tried for an excuse.

There was a mumbled "Damned kids" before the door buzzed. Peter entered the building and patiently hid in the corridor until he could hear the engine of the Abbotts' car drive away.

He then made his way to the rooftops and whipped out his phone as soon as he was sure he was alone.

"Karen, what was that? How did you manage to get CPS involved?" he asked, dropping down cross-legged on the rough floor.

"I didn't," she replied. "I overheard the conversation you had with Bob Abbott and decided to call again using a different voice in my database. I also falsified Benjamin Reilly's electronic CPS files to make it look like you got discharged from their service, in case anyone would want to take a look."

"Wow Karen," Peter breathed out, "that was some brilliant initiative on your part. You're the best AI!"

"Of course I am! I was designed by the great Tony Stark."

Peter laughed lightheartedly.

"Yeah, that's for sure, you certainly inherited his modesty." He shook his head, getting back to the subject. "But if not for you I would still be stuck back there so, thanks, 'Mom'."

"Should I memorize 'Mom' as a nickname I should answer to?" Karen inquired, reminding Peter with that automatized question that she was no real human being.

He chuckled a bit dejectedly.

"Oh no, Karen, please don't do that."

"Understood, Peter."

Peter looked up at the heavy clouds covering the sky, turning the bright sun of the morning into a distant memory. Contrary to what the Abbotts believed, Peter wouldn't sleep in a warm bed that night, and he still needed to find a shelter before he got caught in the rain.

_**END CHAPTER NOTES**_

And this closes what should initially have been the whole of chapter 3! Peter has finaly taken things into his own hands, where will that lead him?

Hi guys, long time no see! I'm very sorry for the long and unexpected wait between that chapter and the previous one. I got caught up in school work, this year being the most demanding of my whole stay in this school. However, the busiest and most difficult part is drawing to a close, so, technically, the next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long as this one did. I'm not making any promise though ^^' (only that I'm NOT giving up on the fic, no matter how long the chapters take to be written.)

Once more, I dedicate a huge thank you to my trusted advisor Note, and to my beta SanaTomb for her amazing work! Especially on Jarvis part, since I apparently can't speak high Jarvis ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!**

Note and I opened a** discord server**! You can come chat with us about Spidey, about art, or pretty much anything you want! :D You might also get snippets of future chapters and deleted scenes!  
You will also get to have a better idea of when the next chapters will come. You can't imagine how many times I wanted to apologize because this chapter was taking too long to come lol

Feel free to join us, we'd love to hear from you! :D /tKwrqkn 


	6. Strange Developments

**June 2012**

The smell wasn't so bad. At least, that's what Peter wanted to believe. After a few daily sessions of dumpster diving, Peter almost managed to convince himself that he'd grown accustomed to the reek. And he very much so forced himself to ignore the fact that summer was just beginning, and that the stench of rotting food was only doomed to get worse.

Over the course of the last few days, Peter had learnt that dumpster diving for food was not so different from looking for retro tech, as he used to do as a teenager; the major distinction being that instead of going through weird and sometimes disturbingly gross stuff in private containers, he now had to face the stench of food left to decay in the sun all day long in a malodorous back alley. If someone were to ask him, he honestly couldn't tell which one he liked less. Although, when diving for tech, he was at least not supposed to eat what he found.

Peter had stretched his twenty dollars thin for as long as he could, spacing meals and sometimes skipping them; but he couldn't make it last forever either, especially with a high-speed metabolism like his.

The container Peter was rummaging through was located in a small alley behind a restaurant. The evening service had ended hours ago and a good share of leftover foods had been discarded. Peter had chosen the late hour of the night to go scavenging, as he preferred to avoid attracting unnecessary attention to himself; he hadn't bailed on the Abbots just to get back into CPS nets so soon.

Crouched on the edge of the dumpster, Peter heaved a deep sigh. He had to admit the obvious: in his fear of being seen by anyone, he had waited too long, and the freshest food had already been salvaged.

"What did I do in my past life to deserve such bad karma?" he muttered.

"You split a ferry in half," a familiar voice whispered back in his ears.

Peter had found a pair of earphones during one of his previous diving sessions. The right side was slightly less loud than its counterpart, but the item was otherwise in very good condition, if a bit dirty. Even after all those years, Peter was still amazed that people would want to get rid of things that were still working relatively well; one man's sorrow was definitely another man's joy. Since he had found the earphones, Peter could hide away his smartphone and pretend he was having a phone call when he wanted to speak with Karen in public, which had made his days ten times better.

"Thanks for reminding me of my mistakes," Peter replied in a tone that he wanted flat; but he still smiled at the memory.

"My pleasure."

Peter jumped out of the dumpster; he would try his luck elsewhere. He rejoined the main street, almost silent at this very early hour of the morning, safe for the never ending traffic running a few streets away and the soft slap of his feet on the ground. The wet asphalt reflected the orange hue of the street lights, and Peter, despite his growing hunger, enjoyed the bit of respite the atmosphere procured him, however small it was. It had rained earlier in the day, which meant that Peter was stuck on foot, since the soles of his shoes were too thick to allow his feet any traction on walls. He felt exposed on the ground, but he didn't want to wet his only pair of socks either. But despite the ambient calm and the silence of his spider-sense assuring him that he was alone, Peter was on edge, his senses reflexively alert.

"Karen, can you tell me something?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes, Peter?"

"Why a child?

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Why do I have to look like a child?" He vented. "Couldn't I have been a few years older so that I could at least get a part time job and pay for my food, instead of having to go dumpster diving for it?"

Peter's stomach rumbled, as if to prove his point.

"I can't find any answer to your question in my database, Peter."

"I know," he yielded. "I didn't expect you to."

Peter had been on his own for no more than two weeks, and he was already getting fed up by the whole situation. He had made no progress on his quest to warn the avengers as he still had no clue on how to get to them, and trying to stay out of sight turned out to require more of his attention than he had first anticipated. He was afraid of getting caught, not only for the sake of his mission, but also for the consequences for his family. The lack of a safe and permanent shelter was also a big drain of energy for him, since he could never fully relax to recharge his batteries; and that was with him having powers. Through this experience, he formed a newfound sympathy for other homeless people, as he didn't even dare to imagine how scary it must be for regular human beings.

Peter scoffed as a thought crossed his mind.

"You know, at this point I'd be ready to receive any kind of help. You could throw me the shadiest magic pact and I think I'd accept it right away. Heck, I'm so desperate you could even send Loki to my rescue, and I'd be ready to trust him with all my heart!"

Peter stopped dead in his tracks as realization hit him.

"That's it!"

"Do you intend to ask Loki for help?" Karen inquired disapprovingly.

"What? No!" He shook his head. "You'd have to be crazy to even consider that."

He resumed walking, a renewed purpose pushing him forward. His protesting stomach was swept in a corner of his mind, forgotten.

"No, not Loki. Doctor Strange!"

"Are you sure about that, Peter?"

"I mean, he's supposed to be a good guy, right? He's not the nicest dude ever, but he told us his priority was to protect this reality, right? And I'm pretty sure our goals align there," Peter explained excitedly. "Also, he's a magician! He'll be more inclined to believe me since he's already feet deep in the weird."

"That sounds like a good plan, Peter."

"I can only agree with you," he shamelessly acknowledged. "I can't believe I didn't think about it earlier. Where do I find him?"

"I don't know, Peter. I cannot find any information regarding Doctor Strange in my database."

Peter stopped once again in his tracks, the news halting him in his momentum.

"What? How come?"

"Doctor Strange wasn't known to the Avengers before our encounter on May 12, 2022."

"Wait, really?"

Peter resumed walking once more, this time at a slower pace.

"I guess it's gonna make finding him a bit more difficult," he said carefully.

But that didn't mean impossible; and Peter was determined. He spotted a Starbucks a few buildings away, and headed in its direction.

"Karen, connect to the wifi please," he asked as he pulled out his phone from his pocket.

Thankful for the free wi-fi access, he leaned against the wall, opened his web browser, and typed 'Doctor Strange' in the search bar. He doubted he would find anything, but he did have to start somewhere, after all.

To his surprise, however, an abundance of articles and web pages popped in his feed. Peter scrolled through them, perplexed. The man he had found in the results was indeed Doctor Strange; the pictures were evidence enough. However, he was presented not as a wizard, but… as a neurosurgeon?

"So that was his real name," Peter marveled, as he read Stephen Strange's denomination headline after headline.

"It's funny, I would never have believed him to have a civilian identity… I thought he would be doing wizard full time or something. How does he find the time to balance both?"

"Probably like you do, Peter."

"I certainly hope not," he sneered. "I barely manage to do it, and I don't even have a real job yet. The man must be a genius; no wonder he is the guardian of reality."

Peter pulled up Strange's LinkedIn profile.

"And it looks like he works at Metro-General at that!" Peter exclaimed relieved to discover that he wouldn't have to cross the country to meet him. It looked more and more like a match made in heaven.

"Karen, can you get me his schedule?"

"Give me a minute."

There was a silence as Karen worked her magic. Peter scrolled through LinkedIn, reviewing the impressive resume Strange had shared on his profile. He spoke, after a spell.

"I can't believe Strange was there from the beginning, right under the Avengers nose, and we never knew about him."

"He does have abilities we can barely understand. It isn't that surprising, Peter."

"Good point."

The screen on Peter's phone changed from the social app to a timetable.

"Here's the schedule you asked for."

"You're amazing," Peter thanked her.

He studied the document.

"Looks like he's getting off at 8 tonight."

A fleeting hope crossed Peter's mind.

"Karen, what do you know exactly about the time stone?"

"No more than you do. Do you need me to remind you of the properties Doctor Strange told us about?"

"No, I'm good. I was just wondering if… you know… he could help me out with my current age problem."

"I believe the time stone could be indeed capable of such power," offered Karen.

Peter couldn't help but smile.

Having decided the next course of actions, more pressing matters came back to the forefront of his mind. His stomach decided to make its presence known to him again with a loud rumble. Peter placed a hand on his abdomen in a futile attempt to quench the sound.

"Guess it's time to go back hunting for food," he stated, disenchanted, as he headed towards a yet unexplored back alley.

After the events now universally referred to as "the Battle Of New York, life had resumed in Manhattan in only a matter of days. The signs of what had transpired were still visible, but New Yorkers were resilient and wouldn't let so much as an alien invasion interfere with their day to day life. That is how, not even a month after the event, the streets were filled again with people.

Oddly enough, Peter felt invisible in huge crowds. He would have thought that the more people around, the higher the risks for him to be called out for being alone. But amongst oblivious tourists with their nose turned up, the tall skyscrapers, and busy commuters, Peter was relatively unseen; and the assured step in his walk ensured to put off most of the more observant passers by.

That is how Peter found himself standing on the sidewalk across the former Stark Tower, staring up at it, hands in his pocket and hood pulled tight on his head. There was something he had always dreamt of doing ever since he first received his abilities; that was, if the tower had not changed ownership before he moved his sector of patrol from Queens to Manhattan. His internal musing had lead him to that spot, and the overall boredom he felt pushed him to toy more and more with the idea. His days now consisted mostly of looking for food, stray money and muggers — muggers he could only take down at night to protect his anonymity— and Peter's perpetual state of restlessness made him stoop so low as to consider ideas that he knew could quickly go wrong. If he was caught…

"Karen, are you sure it's safe?"

"Yes, Peter. Mr Stark installed motion and heat sensors on the exterior of the tower only when he modified it to house the Iron Legion in March 2014. Until that date, the top of the tower will be unprotected on the outside. However, I would not recommend you do it, Peter. You shouldn't even be here."

"I know."

"To put it in your own words: 'Don't screw your chances'. You will meet with Doctor Strange tonight. I am sure he will help you contact the Avengers, but he can only do so if you have not gotten yourself arrested."

She was right, of course. Peter gave himself a mental slap. He had not gotten through the hardships of being on his own for the sake of his mission only to risk it all only a few days in.

"Thanks for the reminder, mom."

Yet, it was reluctantly that Peter turned away and blended back into the crowd.

Poised in a dark corner of the ceiling in Metro-General's parking lot with a perfect view on the personnel entrance, Peter was growing impatient. The surge of activity brought by the change to the night shift had died down a while ago, and Peter had yet to spot Doctor Strange. He checked his phone for the umpteenth time: it was now almost ten, and Peter was starting to wonder if he hadn't missed Strange all together. He had come an hour early by measure of precaution, but it was starting to appear like it might not have been enough.

Minutes passed. Peter was fidgeting more and more, barely able to keep still any time someone walked through the double sliding glass doors, only to be disappointed none of them were his target.

Karen informed Peter when 10 o'clock rang. Doubting he still had a chance to meet with Strange, Peter gave up for the day.

It turned out to be the best idea ever.

After the big disappointment of the evening, Peter had decided to discard all of Karen's warnings and go for it. He had reached the Avengers tower with a well placed web from the top of a nearby building so as to avoid the security of the lowest levels, and had then scaled the glass panes. Peter had been careful to avoid every single lit window, and had been very intent on listening to his spider-sense; he had been ready to jump at its smallest spike. But it never once made itself known.

Peter had reached the large A without any issue, and was now basking in his genius. Not only did the angle make it so that he could see inside what appeared to be Tony's lab, currently unoccupied, without being seen — unless someone was purposefully looking for him, which Peter felt he was safe from as people never look up — but he also had free access to the internet. The wifi password appeared to be the same as the one from the future upstate facility, to Peter's greatest delight. Lying back in the A, he felt like he could finally relax for the first time in days.

Peter was examining a freshly uploaded version of Stephen Strange's schedule to try to understand why he missed him. He tiredly rubbed at his face.

"His last surgery was rescheduled to another day. I can't believe I waited so long when he'd been home for hours already."

"Do you want to try again tomorrow?"

"He gets off at 6. Isn't it a bit early?"

"It is a regular hour to finish work, Peter."

"I'm lucky I have you Karen; I would have never known otherwise," chuckled Peter. "What I meant is that it'll still be very bright and I won't be able to hide on the ceiling. It's too low, I'm going to be seen."

"Maybe it will be the occasion for you to act less inconspicuous for once?"

Light flooded the lab, and all retort was forgotten. Peter slowly twisted, alert, and looked down into the room. He was ready to jump any moment; but his spider-sense remained silent, and Peter unnoticed.

Tony walked into the room and sat heavily at his workstation. He stayed there for a while, pensive. Peter observed, not daring to move. When Tony bent down and retrieved a glass and a bottle of liquor from an adjacent cabinet, Peter wasn't that surprised, but it didn't diminish the pang he felt at the sight in any way. He knew about Tony's alcohol issues –knew how he had almost managed to stop until the Battle of New York made him dive in again. As Tony drank broodingly, Peter watched, powerless.

Peter was lying flat against the wall, hiding behind a car. He regretted his life choices, despising Karen for letting her convince him to do this. He was hoping very dearly that every person that walked by wasn't the owner of one of the nearby cars as he would have a hell of time explaining what a child was doing hiding in a parking lot.

Peter had stolen a bit of wifi before coming, making sure that Strange's schedule hadn't been changed at the last minute. He still had come early, just in case, and had taken his sweet time to select a relatively good hiding spot with an almost perfect view of the entrance. He wouldn't miss him this time.

And sure enough, Strange walked out the doors a small fifteen minutes after clocking out. Peter's stomach squeezed with anticipation when he saw the familiar face. Making sure no one else was around, Peter stealthily approached the sorcerer. He was one last row of cars away from him when the sound of the glass doors sliding open made Peter jump for cover.

A blond woman trotted behind Strange. They kneaded hands when she caught up with him, and resumed walking together to the Doctor's car. Peter followed them from behind his row, cursing at his Parker luck. He hoped the woman would leave quickly; but seeing how intimately close the two of them were getting, Peter could already picture his chances to get a tête-à-tête with the man dwindle in front of his eyes. Crouched behind a car, Peter observed through a window as the woman stole a passionate kiss to the Doctor, which he didn't seem to mind the least.

Someone cleared their throat.

"What are you doing, young man?"

Peter jumped and turned around, eyes wide. He had been so focused that he had zeroed-out on the scene and forgot to pay attention to his surroundings.

"Aren't you too young to get an eyeful?" the nurse continued, frowning. She did not bother to keep her voice low.

Peter reddened despite himself, horrified.

"It's not what it looks like," Peter said before he could think, and immediately regretted it. Because that was, of course, the best thing to say to draw out suspicions, yes?

"Oh really? So you weren't spying on two adults kissing?" she asked Peter smugly.

Peter stole a quick glance behind him. Strange and his partner were looking in their direction, seemingly very amused by the situation. The scarlet of Peter's face grew a few tones stronger.

The nurse knew she had stuck him in a corner. She probably found the picture just as entertaining as the doctors, if her small, slightly lopsided, smile was anything to go by. Peter could think of nothing to say that wouldn't dig his hole of shame even deeper.

"What are you doing out here anyway?" she pried when she realized Peter wasn't going to answer.

"I, er… I was visiting someone —with my family— and, er… I needed some air?"

"Right. And you figured that the parking lot was a safe place to do so?"

Peter had rarely wished as much as he was now to snatch a web and disappear. But he was not wearing his mask; and the Spider-man persona was not a thing yet. So instead, he decided to play along and put on the act of the ashamed kid.

He shrugged. The nurse rolled her eyes.

"Come on, let's get back inside."

As Peter followed her, he made sure to turn his head well away from the couple, unable to bear their look. He briefly considered running away; but he quickly came to the conclusion that the nurse had had plenty of time to examine his face, and that he couldn't be sure she wouldn't call the police if he made for a run. He would have to go for a smooth exit.

They stepped through the door, and immediately Peter remembered how much he loved air conditioning. Wearing a hoodie in June was not his brightest idea; even if he had a good reason to do so.

The nurse seemed to notice his discomfort.

"Take that sweater off, it's way too hot for that. And it makes you look suspicious."

Peter held back a retort and obeyed. He may not have been daring to contradict her; but a part of him also had to admit she was right.

The nurse took them both through a maze of corridors that lead them to the reception. She slid behind the desk and took hold of an unoccupied computer.

"What's your name?" she inquired as she accessed the register.

"Ben."

"And who are you visiting?"

"I don't remember."

The nurse shot him a pointed look, and Peter felt obliged to elaborate.

"He's my mom's friend. Never met him before."

"Do you at least know where his room his?"

Peter shook his head.

If the nurse had seemed amused by his antics on the parking lot, she was now starting to lose patience.

"But it's alright, though. I told her I would be waiting for her over there," he quickly lied, pointing at the waiting room.

The nurse scrutinized him before motioning to the lounge, defeated. Peter nodded and turned away. She was still cursing under her breath at all the irresponsible parents in the world leaving their children unsupervised in a hospital when she got out of hearing range.

Peter selected a seat that had a free outlet below it. As he turned around to sit, setting his backpack down from his shoulder, he saw the nurse speaking with another one occupying the reception desk, and caught her just in time as she pointed at him with a sharp movement of her head. The receptionist looked at him, nodded, and the nurse walked away. Peter was being watched.

If he had to pretend he was waiting for his mom, he might as well make good use of that time. With a sigh, Peter bent down and pulled out of his bag his wrecked but still functioning phone charger, that he had found during yet another one of his dumpster diving sessions. He managed to plug his phone without taking it out of his sweater's pocket, and then settled for the boring wait.

His eyes quickly caught sight of the vending machine in the corner of the room, and his stomach started to rumble loudly at the sight of the sandwiches and energy bars but a glass panel away. Peter looked in the opposite direction, determined to forget about the luring food. He had no money anyways. However, his stomach refused to be fooled by the sudden disappearance of the victuals from Peter's line of sight; it protested even louder at the affront. Peter crossed his arms, resolute, and looked daggers at the offensive machine, as if daring it to tempt him some more.

The scene seemed to amuse the man sitting across from him.

"Hungry?"

"No, I'm ok," Peter belied, embarrassed.

After a minute of obvious rattles in his abdomen, the man seemed unable to ignore Peter any longer.

"I can get you something if you want. I have a growing boy, around your age. I know what it's like."

Peter felt very tempted.

"My mom will be here soon."

But after fifteen minutes, Peter had still not observed any worthwhile opportunity to get away, and its stomach was still making itself known.

"You know… I'm pretty sure your mom wouldn't want you to go starving on her account," the man tried again.

Peter had to close his eyes, taken unaware, as the picture of Aunt May took over his mind.

"You're right," Peter couldn't help but smile, suddenly feeling nostalgic.

The man got up, victorious.

"Come on," he motioned for Peter to come with a gesture of his hand. "What do you want?"

Peter joined him, leaving his sweater with his charging phone on his seat. He looked over the selection, trying to find the cheapest item. But his eyes might have lingered a bit too long on the chicken sandwiches.

"Sandwich?" the man observed.

Peter nodded, giving in to his stomach's demand.

Peter could never thank enough this generous soul sent straight from heaven. It was the best chicken sandwich he ever had.

Peter must have fallen asleep. The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by the receptionist. The nice man was gone, and the waiting room was almost empty.

"Hey kid, is everything ok?"

"Yes, why?" Peter asked, trying to clear away the remnants of sleep blurring his brain.

"Visits finished two hours ago. Shouldn't you be home already?"

"I — uh oh."

Peter finally remembered the full picture. His brain immediately switched to panic mode. He scanned his surroundings, and saw his opportunity in a couple walking towards the main public entrance.

"Here's my mom, thank you!"

Peter snatched his stuff and ran after the couple without glancing back. He then walked calmly behind them once he reached them, pretending he was with them. As soon as he was outside, he made a beeline for the opposite direction the couple went in.

"That was the most embarrassing day of my life."

Peter was scaling the Avengers Tower, seeking a safe place to hide away from the world after the fiasco that was his trip to the hospital. The fact that he at least got a chance to recharge his batteries saved the day from being a total disaster.

"Even more embarrassing than that time you were photographed napping in a dumpster?"

"Ah yes, thanks for bringing that up," Peter replied sarcastically. "Then, that makes it the second most embarrassing day. And I was knocked out, not sleeping."

"That's not what the Bugle said."

"I'm starting to believe you're not trying to help me, Karen."

As Peter neared the A, he noticed light emanating from the lab. He approached cautiously, allowing only the very top of his head to go over the level of the room's floor to check if he was safe to pass by the window.

Only Tony was occupying the room, and to Peter's relief, tonight, he was not drowning his unwelcome thoughts in alcohol. He was working on a project, his back on the bay window, rocking his head softly to the rhythm of a music Peter couldn't hear through the thick glass. Tony appeared busy enough that Peter judged it safe to try and reach the A. He snatched a web and zipped past the windows, unbeknownst to Tony, before landing softly on the warm metal of the illuminated vowel. His socks absorbed the excess sound. Peter silently un-shouldered his backpack, always keeping an eye on his friend. As he settled comfortably, he noticed something odd in Tony's behavior he hadn't spotted before; Tony seemed too focused, his movements a bit too sharp. All preoccupation regarding the hospital disaster vanished.

Peter knew that kind of concentration. Tony was not working for the pleasure of getting things done, nor for the thrill of the invention; he was in this special zone of his that he would lose himself to when he had too much on his mind. Peter had witnessed Tony go without sleep for days in a row when he was in that state; and seeing him like this now did little to appease Peter, as he knew that, once more, there was nothing he could do to help him.

Peter was seriously starting to consider foregoing the trip to the A altogether, judging by how helpless it seemed to leave him every time.

A new figure walked into the lab, jutting Peter out of his musing. Pepper deposited a seemingly heavy cardboard box at her feet, straightened back up and, hands on her hips, talked to Tony; but he kept on working, undisturbed. After Pepper said something, head tilted towards the ceiling, — probably asking Jarvis to stop music —, Tony finally looked up, and immediately adopted a relaxed posture in his seat. Peter could not see his face from his vantage point, but he was almost sure the mechanic had plastered on a smile. Peter could only guess what the quick back and forth between the couple was about, but according to Pepper's stance, it seemed to Peter that Tony was trying to pretend that everything was alright, and that Pepper was having none of it. She bent back down to pick up the box, and brought it to Tony's workbench. She then gave her lover a soft kiss on the forehead, told him one last thing, and left the room.

Peter was torn between shame for having spied on the intimacy of his friends, and a strange sort of longing, almost content but not quite, for having been a witness to an interaction so familiar yet so distant to him. But craving for more, he didn't take his eyes off Tony as the mechanic considered the box now begging for his attention. Tony finally put down the screwdriver he had been holding the whole time as he lost to his curiosity. Peter, himself intrigued by the mysterious content, craned his neck.

Envelopes. Tons and tons of pre-opened envelopes. The address of the Avengers Tower was written on them in every possible ways: printed, wobbly childlike letters, smooth cursive. Tony picked one of those first and opened it. He found inside a long, handwritten letter, with a small iron-man drawn with colored pens at the bottom.

The box contained fan mail. As Tony went through a fair amount of them, he finally seemed to relax in a way that Pepper had not managed to help him achieve by her presence earlier on.

At some point of the night, Tony left the lab, his work remaining forgotten. Peter could never praise Pepper enough for her foresight.

Despite the previous failures, Peter was determined to make it work. He would meet with Strange, and he would do it tonight. He had a good feeling about it.

It was past eleven. The doctor's last surgery had supposedly ended a half hour ago; Peter had made sure before coming it hadn't been canceled, and he was now waiting patiently, hiding once again in his dark corner of the parking lot ceiling.

Yet, Peter could almost not believe it when Strange exited the hospital, alone, a few minutes later. Luck was finally on his side!

Excited, Peter dropped silently to the floor. He stuffed his mask in a pocket and removed his hood, freeing his blond curls to look as trustworthy as possible, before approaching his prey.

"Doctor Strange? We need to talk," Peter asserted.

The man had been about to open the door on the driver side of his luxurious car. He jumped slightly, but didn't bother turning around.

"I don't talk about business outside of work hours. If you want a consultation, take an appointment like everyone else," he said tersely, pulling the door handle.

"I'm not here for the doctor side of you. I'm here for… the strange one."

This gave the man a pause. He closed the door and turned around, examining, for the first time, the person who dared bother him at such a late hour.

"Should I know you?" He asked Peter, barely managing to hide his confusion.

"Yes… And no. I mean, you don't know me yet, but you will. At some point… in the future."

"Am I your…?"

"My what?" Peter repeated, confounded, before realizing the meaning behind Strange's words. "Oh! No, not at all. We're not related."

He tried not to linger on the fact that the doctor even thought it was a possibility.

"Then what do you…? Wait. Aren't you that kid from yesterday?" The doctor observed, a condescending, almost imperceptible half-smile appearing on his lips.

"No, I'm not!" Peter replied a bit too fast, unable to stop his cheeks from turning a bright red. He had sincerely hoped Strange would not have memorized his face. "I mean... Yes, I am, but I was not spying on you guys on purpose. I was not trying to pry or anything, just—" Peter marked a pause. "This is a disaster. Please let me start over."

Peter looked down, exhaled a deep breath, squared his shoulders. When he looked back up, he stared Strange straight in the eyes.

"Doctor Strange, I need your help."

The doctor considered Peter, looking him up and down. He crossed his arms and leaned on his car.

"Alright kid, you have 2 minutes."

This was his chance.

"I know who you are. Who you really are," Peter revealed.

"Do you?" the Doctor asked, an eyebrow raised, amusement creeping in his tone like a defense mechanism.

"But it's ok! Because me too."

"Is that so?"

"Not exactly like you though. I'm not into the… weird, like you are. I mean… I'm in a different kind of weird. But I know what it's like."

"Please, enlighten me."

Peter understood Doctor Strange would not yield anything unless he gave him a definitive proof which, in all honesty, Peter could only understand as he would probably have reacted the same way in his situation. He checked that no one was eavesdropping, and took a step closer.

"Listen," he whispered, spreading his hands in front of him as if he were trying to physically keep the volume low. "We met already; but not in this time. I'm from the future, and we will meet in 2022. I saw the end of this reality, and— and you were there, with me. I don't know how, or why I ended up back here, but I guess it's to try to prevent the end of the world. And I thought you could help me figure out how to—"

"Alright, I've had enough," Strange cut him mid-sentence. "It's cute, it's very cute. But I have other things to do than to listen to a child's fantasy at this time of the night. What are you doing out alone? And why aren't you wearing any shoes?"

Peter looked at him, horrified. The small buzz of his spider-sense finally enabled realization to hit him.

"Oh... You're not there yet," he said, his eyes growing wide as he took an involuntary step back. "Please, just forget about all of this, ok? No spoiler there. I'm sorry for bothering you, Mr Strange."

The man approached Peter.

"Don't tell me you escaped from the child psychiatry ward."

Peter shook his head.

"I swear I'm not. I'm gonna get going now, ok? …Yep, seems like a good idea."

Before the doctor could grab him, Peter turned away and ran.

"Hey!" Strange cried out, hurrying to follow in Peter's footsteps.

But Peter was faster. As soon as he was out of sight behind a corner, he pulled his hood over his head and launched a web, all in one fluid movement, leaving an eerily empty corridor for Strange to find.

At the first free wifi spot he could connect to, Peter, still heavily panting, begged Karen, "Please, please, please, hack Metro's security network and delete every single video they have of me".

Peter had been sulking for days. Having put too much hope in Strange being a solution to all his current issues, the reality check was hard to swallow: at no point had he envisioned the possibility that the doctor wasn't a wizard yet, and he was now paying the price of his delusion. During the days building up to the disastrous encounter, Peter hadn't had much else to do other than imagine all the ways the sorcerer could have helped him; including the possibility to magically restore him to his adult size. He was now back to square one: he had only his disadvantaged self (and Karen, fortunately) to rely on, and still not a clue on how to warn the Avengers of the impending doom. Peter had been even more wary as he was suspecting the doctor had reported his suspicious meeting to local authorities. Peter could not blame him if he had, as it is what he would have done in his place. Or maybe he would have at least tried to find the kid first? Then tell the police only if he couldn't. But he doubted Strange would have bothered at all; and he had no means to know for sure, as he would rather not ask Karen to hack the police. He thus decided it would be for the best if he stayed out of sight for a while. The forced isolation did nothing to help improve his mood though. Not that he had been especially social since he left the Abbotts, but he could at least forget his own problems when he was listening to the New Yorker's amongst the crowds he would conceal himself into. Being all alone sucked.

Peter was back in Queens to try and put some distance with the awkward memory. It was the early hours of the morning and Peter managed to avoid the few souls that came his way. He was putting very little heart in his current search for food: he kept strolling the streets, promising himself he would inspect the next alley for a potential dumpster; then the next, then the following one. It's not that he wasn't hungry; he just wasn't hungry enough to motivate a swim amongst the not-so-fresh food, arguably preferring to bemoan his fate.

As he meandered of mind and body, a post office came in sight. The building reminded him of that night a week prior, when Pepper managed to sooth Tony's mind with fan-mail. The memory warmed Peter's heart, prompting a small smile on his face for nobody to see. As he got closer to the edifice, recollections of a conversation trickled back in his mind:

"_Well, you don't have to tell him yourself. You could find other ways to get the story across to him…_" Sarah had told him. "…_You could write him a letter._"

Peter came to an abrupt stop. He looked at the post office in disbelief, unable to refrain his thoughts from forming the scheme that was exploding in his mind.

"Karen," Peter said in his earphone's microphone, awed, "I think I got a plan."

Peter rummaged through the drawers of Midtown High's school office for an envelope. He didn't enjoy the thought of stealing, but he was on a mission—and he was still short on money. He figured the school wouldn't miss it anyway.

"No, I'm not going to tell him the whole story in a letter, that'd be stupid," Peter retorted to Karen. "But I think I can sway things from afar. I mean, essentially, the main reason why we failed on Titan in the first place is because the whole Avengers team wasn't together, yeah? And what broke them apart?"

Peter had plugged his phone to charge on the first outlet he saw when he entered the room.

"It was the Sokovia Accords, Peter," Karen replied on speaker.

"On the record yes, but not entirely. Do you remember? Tony told me once he was struggling with PTSD amongst other things after the Battle of New York. I'm sure it played out in what happened between Tony and Cap."

"Are you implying his learning the truth about Mr. and Mrs. Stark's assassination would be the cause of the Avengers breaking apart?"

"Not just implying —I know it is. Tony told me so. I understand Cap lying to Tony was a big deal, but if he had been in a better head space, maybe he wouldn't have taken the news so hard, and maybe the team wouldn't have split."

"That's a lot of 'maybes', Peter."

"I know… But it's worth a try, don't you think? If I can somehow reach him through letters, maybe I could, I don't know, stir things from far away without actually having to talk to him… Help him get better, you know?"

Peter couldn't bring himself to say it.

"It seems like a weak plan, Peter."

He sighed.

"It is. But it's all I have for now."

He knew he was grasping at straws. He knew the chances of Tony reading his letter were close to zero, what with the hundreds of fan-mails he was receiving everyday. But Peter was also aware of his one advantage: he knew how to talk to Tony. All he needed was for one letter to grab his attention, and his plan would be set in motion. It would most certainly fail if he only sent the one letter he was about to write; but if he mailed just enough of those, Tony was bound to get one of his at some point.

"Found it!" Peter exclaimed, victoriously raising his arm, loot in hand.

He sent the drawer flying closed and headed for the closest desk, pulling a blank paper from a printer on his way. He yanked the chair, sat down, grabbed a pen...

And stared at the paper.

After all his justification to Karen — and to himself — Peter realized he had no idea what to write to get the point across without sounding cringey. The more he looked at the empty paper, the more uneasy he became.

"I'm really about to write a fan-letter to Tony, aren't I?"

"It seems like you are," Karen replied.

Peter could have sworn she was smug. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"What can I tell him?" he wondered out loud, staring at the paper as if it would spontaneously fill itself on its own.

"What do you think he needs to hear?" Karen countered with another question.

Peter turned his head towards his phone, dumbfounded. For an AI, Karen could be incredibly perceptive sometimes.

"Good point," he acknowledged.

Peter pondered for a bit, absentmindedly tapping the top of the pen against his neck, his other hand supporting the weight of his head. He ran a few ideas in his mind, considering them, then readied the nib when an outline had formed.

_Dear Tony,_ Peter wrote, before immediately scrapping it. He wasn't on first name basis with his friend anymore.

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_I wanted to thank you for protecting us during the battle of New York. You might doubt it sometimes, but you really are a hero. Your actions ever since you became Iron Man prove it. You took responsibility for your mistakes and made something great out of them. You became someone you can be proud of. I know your near sacrifice took a toll on you, but never forget why you did it. Keep your close ones near you, especially Pepper (and Happy and Rhodey too). They love you and they want what's best for you. They will help you get better. You will get better. As long as the Avengers stay together__,_ _the world will be safe._

_Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man_

Peter scribbled a little spider next to his signature. He put the pen down and laid back in his chair, taking in his whole text, unconvinced.

"This is so lame," he said self-deprecatingly, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Are you done writing the letter?" Karen inquired.

"I think so? If I add anything else, the whole thing will be so cheesy I can't see how Tony wouldn't be able to smell it from a mile away."

"At least you would be sure he would find the letter if it smells."

"Or throw it away without opening it."

"This also seems like a likely outcome."

Peter felt so awkward, he didn't know if pursuing this plan was a good idea anymore. Only the thought that it was his best option pushed him to shove the letter in the envelope.

On top of giving Peter a wide berth, people were openly staring at him when they thought he wasn't looking —that was what he got for choosing to go to the post office dressed in his makeshift suit. Not that it particularly stood out: after all, it was composed of his everyday dark hoodie and joggers; but the red spray-painted spider on his chest and his half-mask especially made for a pretty unusual sight even for New York.

Peter was waiting in line, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He had had years to hone his ability to ignore the weird looks he got when wearing the suit and, once more, he put that skill to good use. Under the surface, however, he felt extremely uncomfortable. Not only was this the first time he'd went out in public in a week, but it was also his debut wearing his full attire in broad daylight. It was not a decision he had made light-heartedly; if anything, he would have preferred to avoid attracting so much attention to himself. It was only for the sake of his family that he chose to put the mask on: if Tony read his letter and decided to track him down for x or y reason, Peter couldn't risk having his face exposed leading all the way to his past-self. The post office had cameras, and facial recognition softwares didn't care about one's hair color.

Peter's turn finally came. He took a step forward, carefully holding the letter so that the recipient's address wasn't visible.

"Hi, I need a stamp please."

Despite his thorough tour of the school's office, Peter hadn't been able to find any.

The receptionist, an intimidating, overworked lady in her forties, didn't look at him. She kept her focus on sorting the previous client's letters.

"It'll be 11$."

"I need a single stamp, not a full book."

"We don't sell stamps by the unit," she stated, casting him a glance from the corner of the eye. When she noticed Peter's garb, she finally gave him her full attention. She straightened up, raising an eyebrow.

"And what are you supposed to be...?"

"Er... A man spider?"

"A man... Spider? How is that even supposed to be a spider? This looks more like a failed attempt at a wrestling costume to me. Why are you dressed like that?"

"It's... Ah... It's just my thing, you know? And come on, this is totally a spider," Peter debated, pointing at his chest.

The post lady sighed, shaking her head as if her faith in the future generation had been drained by this conversation.

"Kids these days. I always knew those anime things were a bad influence on children."

Peter elected to not argue any further.

"Look, is there any way I can get that stamp?"

"Buy the book."

"But I can't afford it. I don't have that much," Peter reddened, lowering his voice despite himself.

"Then stop wasting my time. There are other people waiting for their turn," she scolded, gesturing at the line behind Peter.

"Please, it's very important that I send it," he insisted, sliding the letter on the counter.

He hated begging, especially for something as trivial looking as fan mail. The lady was two seconds away from shooing Peter off when she noticed the address carefully written on the envelope. She took it, examining it closer, before studying a very awkward-feeling Peter in a new light. Her face softened very subtly as she seemed to draw her own conclusion to what was actually going on.

She sighed heavily. Still keeping her seemingly closed off demeanor, she grabbed bills out of her own wallet, threw them in the cash register and grabbed a book. She peeled off a stamp.

Peter understood too late what she was doing.

"No, please, you don't have to do that," he exclaimed, his blush deepening.

She ignored him, her hands easily placing the stamp on the envelope with years of practice, her eyes never leaving Peter. There was no stopping her.

"I needed a new book anyway, you just gave me a reason to get one sooner," she clarified.

"Well, that's… thanks. I don't know what to say," he said, grateful.

Peter slid his last 55 cents towards her. She refused them, gesturing to Peter to take them back.

"I have a niece around your age," she explained as she slipped the envelope below the counter. "She's a big fan too. Every time I see her she talks about how she'll become an Avenger when she grows up."

"I'm not—" Peter tried to diffuse, not comfortable with how close to the truth she was. But the post lady wouldn't let him talk.

"Just be careful out there, ok? Don't do anything dangerous. You're still a kid."

"I'm older than I look," Peter couldn't help but defend himself.

The post lady scoffed.

"Yeah, right. Now get on kid, I have other clients. Have a nice day."

Peter thanked her one last time and turned away. As he was about to slip through the door, the post lady called him back one last time.

"And kid?"

Peter looked back at her.

"Choose something other than spiders. Nobody likes spiders."

"I do," Peter retorted. "Spiders are dope."

As he left, Peter decided it was time he found a way to get his own money if he was to pursue he fan-mail plan.

**END CHAPTER NOTES:**

Hey guys, I'm very sorry for the long delay, I got caught up in school work real bad ^^' But now I'm back! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I had a lot of fun writting it! :D As usual, special thanks to Note and AO3 user Jani_Tomb 3 Feel free to join our discord server :) /tKwrqkn 


End file.
